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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387299">Royal Favors</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyaStark/pseuds/LyaStark'>LyaStark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Another Westeros [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya Stark-centric, F/M, POV Arya Stark, Politics, Queen Arya Stark, Westerosi Matrimonial Bedding Tradition, Westerosi Politics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:21:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26387299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyaStark/pseuds/LyaStark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Before she even has a chance to wed the king, Arya finds that nearly everyone, from acquaintances to the closest family members, want something from her, and all because of who she happens to be marrying.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark &amp; Bran Stark, Arya Stark &amp; Catelyn Tully Stark, Arya Stark/Aegon VI Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>In Another Westeros [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>202</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is part of my series In Another Westeros, an alternate universe where Aerys and Rhaegar died right before the Battle of the Trident resulting in the possibility that peace could be made between the Rebels and the regents, Elia Martell and Rhaella Targaryen. From there, everything changes.</p><p>This is best read after A Match For A She-Wolf and Wolf Mother. But the summary of it is that Arya and Aegon met and became engaged during his royal progress in the North. Daenerys is married to Robb, who she has two children with, Bran is engaged to Bethany Blackwood, and Sansa is married to Tyrion and is carrying their second child.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When their party rode forth from Winterfell for the long journey south to King’s Landing, Arya anticipated many things. She knew she would fight with her lady mother about how she dressed – her riding leathers would be getting a great deal of use. She was certain they would take longer than planned to arrive because there were always more troubles and distractions than anticipated on their travels. She foresaw difficulties with the rest of their traveling companions getting accustomed to Nymeria, Ghost, and Shaggy, and made certain to warn everyone of their direwolves ahead of time. Most of all, she looked forward to meeting all their friends and family whose parties would join theirs on the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Arya didn’t expect was how much each of them would want from her, and all because she happened to be marrying the king.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It began at the Twins, where they rested a night and were feasted lavishly by Lord Stevron Frey. Scarcely a bite of food had been eaten before their host generously offered them the services of one or more of his daughters, sisters, cousins, nieces, granddaughters, and grandnieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A queen can never be served by too many ladies,” Lord Stevron said, genially. “It is my honor to let you choose a few from among the ladies of House Frey. They will all serve you with diligence and loyalty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time Arya was saying, “Well alright, why not-” her mother was saying, “Forgive us, but no-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They turned to each other in consternation and an awkward silence swelled within the crowded, smoky hall, several weasel-like faces watching them intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lord Stevron broke the moment with an amiable laugh. “Lady Catelyn, I’m afraid you must needs get used to your daughter overruling you. Please, Lady Arya, choose who you will. They are all eager to go to court to attend their new queen. They can depart with you on the morrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is impossible.” This time it was her father overruling her too. “My daughter’s household is already chosen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, forgive us, my lord,” Lady Catelyn began again, her eyes still boring into Arya, who scowled back at her. “But the queen dowager and the princess have already approved of the ladies-in-waiting who will make up my daughter’s household.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Arya stiffly mimicked. “But I can only choose </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was relieved when her mother faced their host again. “Yes, only one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya ended up choosing Lord Stevron’s granddaughter, Walda, who was of an age with her and unmarried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once that was settled, Lord Stevron offered her as many of his sons, grandsons, brothers, nephews, and cousins as she might like to strengthen her household guard. This time Arya refused. She had to bite back an exclamation on how far he was overstepping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lord,” Ser Arthur Dayne called from further down the table. A polite and precise Dornishman and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he had led the honor guard the crown had sent to escort Arya to King’s Landing. “You are surely sending your kinsman to compete in the tourney games. Once the king and queen and the rest of the court see how they distinguish themselves in the lists, they are more likely to ask them to join their households.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya smiled at the older knight gratefully and he nodded back with a wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they traveled south, when she wasn’t racing beyond the column to explore with Jon, Talia, and Rickon with their wolves loping beside them, Arya often found herself riding near Ser Arthur and Lady Brienne of Tarth. She asked them endless questions about Dorne, Tarth, and court life. She found that Brienne served as sworn shield to Queen Rhaella. A fierce warrior maiden, according to the Sword of the Morning, she was fiercely reserved and often tongue-tied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Maid of Tarth looks flustered and terrified every time I look at her,” Arya told Talia Forrester one night when they were alone in Arya’s grey and white pavilion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A woman that big needn’t be scared of anyone,” Talia said. “I hope we-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean that freakish big woman who dresses like a man?” Walda asked, ducking into the tent with Erena Glover and Joanna Umber. “It seems we should be the ones fearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ve never seen such a creature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unnatural is what she is,” Lady Joanna said, chuckling. “Though I can’t say it isn’t nice to find a woman who towers over me, for once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erena giggled. “She’s like one of those giants from the stories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, all of you!” Arya jumped to her feet. “You don’t talk about Brienne that way! She’s good natured and brave!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She expected a snide reply. Instead, her words were met with fearful expressions, hastily chased by downcast eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, my lady,” all three said with a curtsy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed they feared not only the Maid of Tarth, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> as well. That made Arya sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to speak more gently in the following days, though she couldn’t say she had done anything wrong. But only Talia and Wylla seemed to remain her friends. The others had become formal, polite, and obliging; a smile and a dutiful “Yes, my lady” always at the ready, but always with a shade of wariness. Once they settled into King’s Landing, Arya hoped they would become more relaxed with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would that Lord Walder were still alive,” Mother said, after reminding Arya to send a raven to King’s Landing to warn of the additional lady-in-waiting who would be attending her. “The late Lord Fray would have surely offended you and you would have refused him no matter what he asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their party had reached Riverrun just a few hours ago and Arya had come to see her parents in their rooms. After agreeing to send the message before they departed, she told them what happened with her ladies, hoping they would tell her what she ought to do. They were always wanting to tell her what to do. They did not disappoint now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet one,” Lord Eddard began, leading her over to the window seat. “You may grow fond of these ladies and they of you. Or you may feel naught but passing duty for each other. Regardless, they are not your friends. There must always be a distance between us and those who serve us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya made a face. “Distance? But Talia and I were always cl-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The times that Talia served as your companion in the past, you were young,” Father said. “Yes, you may have treated her as you would an equal. Since you were at home or at Lya’s holdfast, it made no matter. Her father is the bannerman of one of my bannermen. The Forresters are a loyal family and deserve our respect. But she was never your equal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya bit her lip and looked down at her hands. She and Talia had been close since the first time the other girl had come to Winterfell to be her companion. Together, they had raced horses through the Wolfswood, traded secrets in the night, and trained at swords and rings under Aunt Lya’s watchful eye. It wasn’t fair that she should treat her differently now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you understand what I am saying, child?” Lord Eddard asked. “Show your gratitude. Show your respect. Be kind and gracious. But when they require chastisement, you must give that as well. You were right to defend Lady Brienne. The words and deeds of your retinue, ladies, and servants all reflect on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This little storm was nothing,” Mother said. “Wait until we reach King’s Landing and all of your ladies and maids are together. Remember, they aim not only to serve you but to serve their family’s interests. Just as you serve </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> family’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya looked away, realizing why they feared her now. They were scared that she would send them home in disgrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father has the right of it,” Mother continued. “Lady Brienne is the queen dowager’s sworn shield. If she and the king accept her, everyone must.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I don’t want my own ladies to hate me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need them to </span>
  <em>
    <span>respect </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.” Mother paused. “Even fear you a little. Liking you can come later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only troubles Arya had thought she might have with her ladies would be the ones between Bethany Blackwood and Bess Bracken, who had already arrived at Riverrun before them. With them, it wasn’t merely the ancient feud between their families, but the added jealousy that might increase their feud since Bethany was betrothed to Bran and thus would soon be Arya’s good sister. She had hoped to make them friends before that happened. But if there were “storms” with all her ladies, she couldn’t imagine how tiring it would be to keep them all in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the following days, Uncle Edmure and his freckled wife, Lady Desmera Redwyne, welcomed them to Riverrun with feasts and hunts as they waited for the others in their party to join them for the rest of the journey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was during a noon meal on the third day that her uncle and aunt made their requests: a council seat for Edmure and a white cloak for Desmera’s brother, Hobber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother is already at court, distinguishing himself,” Desmera said. “I’m certain he is already on the Lord Commander’s list for who might replace brave Ser Barristan. But if you were to give the king a gentle nudge in his direction, that could help settle the matter for the good of all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But even more important than a white cloak for Hobber is the matter of a council seat,” Uncle Edmure said. “As it stands, the small council has none who are sympathetic with us. Those Darrys act as though they reign above us since they have had a member on the small council since just after the Rebellion, though I am their liege lord. The Whents are near as bad. Your marriage will change all of that. You need a man you can trust to speak for our family’s interests. Let me be that man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> will speak for our family’s interests,” Arya told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edmure looked at her as though she claimed to have hatched a dragon. “The king means to have his wife on his council?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. He promised. That shouldn’t be a surprise. His mother and grandmother have seats too. Everyone knows that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That cannot be more than ceremonial,” he insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya glared at him and bit back a few harsh retorts before settling on, “If my place on the council’s only </span>
  <em>
    <span>ceremonial</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then I can’t help you. Go ask Aegon for a seat yourself when we reach King’s Landing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a tense and uncomfortable moment, Desmersa shifted the conversation over to her wedding and what she would wear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Lord Tyrion arrived with his party of Westermen – including two more of Arya’s ladies – they departed down the River Road to rejoin the Kingsroad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all should have made our own ways to King’s Landing like Robb and Dany did,” Arya said one night as they made camp. “Meeting each other along the way only takes longer. We all would have made better time on our own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, but then we would have deprived the common people of a show,” Tyrion said, strolling beside her. “Your entrance into the city must be as grand as possible with all your fine connections on full display. How else will we know that the rebellion is long behind us and the realm is completely whole and united?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine connections?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion began to list those connections off on his fingers. “You are the daughter of the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, niece of the Lord of Riverrun who is wed to a Redwyne of the Arbor, cousin to the Warden of the East and Lord of the Eyrie, and good sister to the Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock. Yes, our wise king could scarcely have chosen a wife with a better web of political support, which just so happens to neatly bind most of the regions who rebelled against his grandfather to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya felt her face scrunch up. With the weight of Tyrion’s mismatched gaze on her, she quickly looked ahead and tried to smooth her expression. She wasn’t stupid. She knew her marriage was political. Yet, laid out that way made it seem as though Aegon had come to Winterfell intending to wed her whether he liked her or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now, good sister, you are not one to dream of romances out of the songs,” Tyrion said. “I’m certain you are fond enough of each other to make a good start and maybe even a good middle if all goes well in making princes and princesses. There are no good ends though, I’m afraid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was on the cusp of saying she knew that, when Ser Arthur cut in from behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why so dour, Lord Tyrion?” the white knight asked. Arya could hear the tightness in his voice. She turned to find violet eyes narrowed as he looked at the other man. “This is a happy time for Westeros.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for a certainty,” Tyrion agreed, seemingly not taking note of the knight’s frosty tone. “I am simply making certain my beloved good sister is acquainted with the realities of the role she is stepping into.” He turned back to Arya. “Those realities being that connections are rather important and each of those connections will want something from you. Your sister and I are no different. See.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out a folded, but unsealed letter and Arya took it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t read very far before blurting, “Sansa didn’t write this!” But she noticed that it was her sister’s elegantly beautiful handwriting. “At least she didn’t write it to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded more like the loving letters she wrote to Dany.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion laughed. “You are quick, good sister. No, my lady wife is not writing to you specifically. She is writing to her future queen, who just so happens to be you. You are no longer simply Arya, not that you ever truly were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya thought about that for a moment, skimming over the words. Strangely enough, that explanation made sense. Her sister wasn’t writing to Arya of Winterfell no more than Uncle Edmure and Lord Frey were asking her for favors. They were reaching out to the king’s future wife. That annoyed her a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My dearest sister,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>the letter began,</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I beg your pardons for not attending your wedding. If I were not with child, there is no event that would give me greater joy to attend. I send you all my love and good wishes along with my lord husband and my most beloved Myrielle. If anyone was more glad than I to hear of the fine match you made, it was Lord Tyrion. As you know, he loves you as much as he does his own sister and he is eager to be of use to you and our king. Though I would miss him greatly, I believe he would be of great value to you and the realm as a member of the King’s Small Council. He has made the Westerlands even more prosperous than he found them upon reaching his majority and could turn that mind toward doing the same with all of Westeros.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya looked back at Tyrion when she was done. “You couldn’t ask me yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps we should speak privately in your pavilion?” he suggested with a bow to Ser Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside of her pavilion was no more private than the outside, with Septa Florence happily issuing orders to the ever growing number of ladies-in-waiting, which now included Myrielle Lannister and Lucinda Marbrand. Most tolerated it blankly, still finding their footing within the company, while others regarded the septa with silent disdain. When they reached King’s Landing, Lady Marilda Velaryon would serve as her chief lady-in-waiting. Mother said Marilda’s high birth would make the others more willing to obey her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to talk to Tyrion,” Arya announced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, of course,” the septa said before ordering most of them out and commanding Erena and Myrielle to stay to pour wine and serve cheese and bread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does Sansa want to be rid of you then?” Arya asked as soon as they were seated at her little table. “Or did you have her write the letter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good sister, you wound me. My lady wife and I have a great affection for each other and are very happy together in the West. But if there is an opportunity for us to rise higher, we will both reach for it. Even if I can’t gain a council seat, she will want to come to King’s Landing, mayhaps as one of your ladies or one of the queen dowager’s. Sansa never says it aloud, she’s far too courteous, but I know the Rock is not the fairytale castle she wishes to spend her days in. Only a Lannister can truly love the Rock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She must hate it there if she’s willing to be one of my ladies-in-waiting,” Arya noted. “She would be happier serving the princess or the queen dowager.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid Sansa has convinced herself that in the three years since our marriage, you must have blossomed into a fine, proper lady with charm, courteousness, and elegance in your every movement. She can’t fathom how else you could have won the love of our king.” He shook his head ruefully. “Her disappointment at finding you just the same as she left you will surely be offset by the prestige of being the queen’s sister, particularly if you aid us in our rise in influence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya made a face. “I like you better in your letters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tyrion held up his wine cup in a mock toast. “Most do. Just the same, consider our request. It is for the good of all our family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did consider that for the rest of the evening, annoyed but seeing the sense in aiding them in rising alongside her. Not for anything would Arya tell her parents what Tyrion and Sansa had asked of her just as she made no mention of her uncle and aunt’s requests. Her mother was certain to insist that she take her sister as her lady-in-waiting at the very least, which would drive both of them as mad as Aerys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, after Talia combed and braided her hair, Arya pulled out a bundle of letters, each written in Aegon’s now familiar hand. Through the past year, the letters they exchanged had allowed them to grow to know each other beyond the initial attraction that drew them together. She began to find herself disappointed every time she received a letter that wasn’t from him or that contained more of the political than the personal. Yet the balance of political and personal was the blade her marriage would teeter on.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You always knew that, stupid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Arya told herself, skimming a letter where Aegon had the first attempt at verses he was working on with a singer, Alaric of Eysen. Aegon meant for Alaric to regale her with it during their wedding feast. Now she had to wonder, was the king writing that song from his heart or to make a fine show for the lords and commons? Or was it both?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid, stupid, stupid…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya shook her head and ordered the lights to be put out in her pavilion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laying there in the dark, she considered why Tyrion’s request had unsettled her like this and quickly realized that her sister’s words had dug up those old insecurities from their earliest years. Sansa and her friends had called her ugly and stupid, even naying at her and calling her Horseface while Septa Mordane called her wicked and hopeless, shaming her in front of everyone. Often, she had compared the other girls unfavorably to Arya whenever they weren’t acting appropriately or if their stitches weren’t perfect enough. When Aunt Lya had demanded that Septa Mordane and Sansa not be allowed to call her names and demean her anymore, Mother had sent for another septa to take charge of Arya’s education and Septa Florence had made all the difference. Arya no longer dreaded her lessons as Florence instructed using encouragement rather than humiliation to motivate her charge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A change in septa also meant less time with Sansa and her friends. So she could let go of all the hurtful things they said. Arya had buried those old pains and insecurities away, never to be thought of again. Until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shouldn’t hurt her that her sister only thought she was worthy of Aegon’s love because she had become a proper lady rather than for who she was. Yet the pain stung deep just the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden longing for her Aunt Lya struck Arya. Her aunt was back home, serving as the Stark in Winterfell and holding Father’s place until he returned. She would tell Arya she was being foolish to spare a thought for what her sister thought. Aunt Lya had always been so confident and bold in who she was. The fact that Arya took after her so strongly made Arya more confident and bold as well. But her aunt was leagues away and Arya didn't know when she would see her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip and tried to will herself to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was grateful to climb back into the saddle again the next morning as they continued their journey, though she began to dread meeting her Vale family, even if Bran was with them. They were like to have their own favors to ask of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, the company of Ser Arthur and Jon distracted her from her growing annoyance. They rode on either side of her near the head of the column. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady, you ought to know that you managed to humble our king with no effort at all,” Ser Arthur said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Humble?” Arya cried. “What did I do to humble </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” the knight admitted. “That alone nearly drove him mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya made a face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled lightly. “Let me explain. When we made our plans for the Northern progress and the grand maester listed all the members of your family who would be there, the lad said something along the lines of, ‘I had best prepare for that unwed daughter of theirs to be my constant companion at meals and hunts. I’ll be lucky if she agrees to wait outside the door when I use the privy.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sh-” She had to bite her lip to keep from insulting her betrothed in the hearing of so many, but it was a near thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knight’s smile broadened and Jon barked out a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One might think the lad would be relieved to find that the ‘unwed daughter’ was as interested in him as she was with the rest of our party,” Ser Arthur continued. “And far less interested in him than in his horse. Better still, Lord and Lady Stark never hinted at a match between you and never sat you directly beside him at meals. In fact, from what I heard, the only talk of marriage was a possible match between you and my nephew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya flushed. “Your sister invited us to come for a visit to see if we might make a match before you all came. I asked Aegon and El about Starfall and if Lord Edric was as kind as I had heard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is even kinder, I promise you,” Ser Arthur said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what Aegon and El told me.” Now that she thought about it, the king had admitted to Edric’s virtues rather reluctantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, your complete lack of interest nearly drove the lad mad.” Abruptly, the mirth left the older knight’s face and his violet eyes became grave. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> mad. Simply….besotted. He became besotted with you to the point where he didn’t wish to leave Winterfell without making an offer for your hand, all because you showed so little interest in him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya had no idea what to make of that. Was that why he had met with her so readily when she finally had shown more interest in him? Had he intended to make an offer even before they began kissing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems my brother prefers to chase rather than be chased,” Jon concluded from her other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Arya’s mind went straight to that afternoon in the godswood when Aegon chased her around one of the hot spring pools and she struggled to fend off a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not far from the truth of it, I’m thinking,” Ser Arthur said. “But truly, my lady, pay no heed to what Lannister said. He can be a sour, mocking little man. Always was, even as a boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never pay Tyrion much mind,” Arya said, looking curiously ahead at the village they approached where the townsfolk were gathering and pointing at them. A few bold boys and girls raced to meet them, arms waving. “He’s an ass but he wasn’t all wrong. Aegon wouldn’t marry me if I was some mason’s daughter. I’m not stupid. I know that’s how all marriages work. But that doesn’t mean we don’t like each other. Come, we ought to give them alms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> With that, Arya put her heels into her sorrel mare and raced forward, Jon, Arthur, and a few of her ladies at her heels, to meet the villagers and pass out coins. They passed a few more towns and villages before with similarly joyous greetings. Their banners and the news travelling up and down the roads told of who they were and what their purpose was. Those smiling people already called Arya “Your Grace”. More than a few from each village attached themselves to their party, likely hoping to find positions with some lord or knight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a story they will tell their children and grandchildren,” Tyrion said as they left Harroway’s Town. “The day their future queen rode by, kicking up dirt at them, leaving coins for them to fight over, and stole away their biggest fools.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Arya said. “If the map we looked at this morning told it true, we’ll meet with Bran in just a few miles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon they reached the crossroads where the River Road, the High Road, and the King’s Road met, and sure enough soaring blue falcons flapped on banners heralding the presence of her cousin Robert Arryn and his party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they approached, a young man with auburn hair down to his shoulders rode out to meet them, a direwolf racing at his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bran!” Arya called, urging her mare into a gallop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stopped just shy of each other, bringing their horses to a halt with soft whinnys before leaping down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so much taller than me!” Arya demanded as Bran lifted her off her feet in a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve always been taller than you, little sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liar!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then, the rest of their family approached and dismounted too and crowded around Bran for their own embraces and greetings. Lady Catelyn clasped him fiercely before holding him at a distance and chiding him for growing so tall. “My special boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the Starks fussed over Bran, the rest of the column continued around them to make camp beside the Vale men. Even Arya’s ladies rode on. All but Bethany Blackwood. Quiet and shy, she had climbed down from her mare and waited a short space away for some time before Arya noticed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bethany, what are you doing over there?” she called. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her pale face instantly blazed red, though to her credit Bethany took a few steps forward and curtsied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ser Brandon,” she said to his boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran looked no less awkward, his face turning near as vibrant as his hair even as he bowed and recited proper courtesies to his betrothed. Though Bran and Bethany’s engagement had been contracted years ago, they were all awkwardness and embarrassment. Her little brother looked relieved once they mounted up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why doesn’t he like her?” Arya whispered to Jon as they continued on to rejoin their party. Bran and Bethany rode a ways behind them as well as Rickon, Father, and Mother. “She’s nice enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little cousin, you refused more than one suitor who was ‘nice enough,’” Jon pointed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya knew that was true. She had liked a few of her suitors, but even with those ones, she had found some reason to oppose the marriage. She had refused Edric Baratheon on account of his father being too free with her and had refused Ser Loras on account of him preferring men and wishing for a white cloak instead of a wife. But she still enjoyed their company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She resolved to ask Bran sometime that evening after they made camp. But it was not to be. Aunt Lysa and Robert Arryn insisted on having her to dine with them in her cousin’s pavilion. It was a relatively private affair. Only their family by blood or marriage were in attendance along with Septa Florence and a few maesters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My cousin wants me dead,” Robert announced shrilly as soon as the venison was served. The skinny young lord shook slightly as he slammed his fist against the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya jolted at the proclamation, her mind instantly going through which of her siblings or little Tully cousins could have frightened the frail Lord of the Eyrie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s found you out, good sister,” Tyrion said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Arya said automatically, still looking at Robert. “Which cousin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turned out, he meant Harrold Hardyng, a young knight who was heir to the Vale so long as Robert remained unwed and childless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry the Heir, they call him,” Aunt Lysa sneered. “They crowd about him, currying for favor like he was about to be a lord in truth. As if my Sweetrobin weren’t as strong and hail and virile as a man can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya heard Tyrion snort, but when their eyes met, he filled his mouth with wine, which was for the best, though she had to bite her lip to ward off a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s worse than that,” Robert said. “He uses </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>heraldry! The Falcon of Arryn is mine! I ordered him to stop, but he said he has the right. But that’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie</span>
  </em>
  <span>! </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> am the Lord of the Eyrie! Not him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he was about to slam his fist on the table again, the young lord was seized by a fit of shaking. As if expecting this, guards and a maester hurried forward to tend to him, restraining his arms and legs as they flailed and kicked about. They eased him to the ground and poured sweetwine into his mouth. Gradually, the fit began to subside as Aunt Lysa murmured soothing words to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, carry him to his pavilion,” the maester said. “I will tend to him there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching the episode unfold, Arya felt a twinge of guilt at her less than kind response to her cousin’s state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aunt Lysa,” Arya said, drawing her attention away from her departing son. “What does he need from us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Easing herself back into her chair, her aunt said, “We need you to ask the king to remove Harrold Hardyng as my son’s heir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment of silence, several voices from around the table insisted this could not be done. Even if someone else was named Robert’s heir, unless it was a child of his body, Ser Harrold was still like to rebel against the choice and many would flock to his side. There would be war in the Vale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me!” Aunt Lysa cried with a huff. “Should he be named to the Kingsguard, he couldn’t be heir to anything and no one would rebel. </span>
  <em>
    <span>See</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I am not so foolish as you all pretend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would have Harrold rewarded with a white cloak?” Arya asked, forcing herself to leave out the, </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which had been on the tip of her tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have him stopped from siring children or looking to have my son’s lands!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knight’s of the Kingsguard are the finest knights in the realm,” Bran insisted, a red as vibrant as his hair rising up his neck. “They are honorable and deadly. Harry the Heir is neither. He doesn’t deserve a white cloak, no more than he deserves knighthood at all. Everyone knows it was handed to him at that melee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lad has the right of it,” aged Uncle Brynden agreed. “In battle or tourney, Harry has never distinguished himself unless it was agreed by everyone involved that he would. He does not shame himself nor show even a shadow of true skill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only answer is that Robert must marry and make an heir,” Mother said. “Perhaps one of Arya’s ladies might suit. It would be a splendid match for any of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya struggled to keep her face placid as she wondered which of her poor ladies would have to bed down with Robert. They would be Lady of the Vale, but gods… That was a title she had refused almost as soon as she met him years ago. Then she remembered him dissolving into shakes just a few moments past and the guilt returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt Lysa cried out. “My baby marrying so soon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is six-and-ten,” Mother insisted. “Robb was about the same age when he wed. Or close enough to make no matter. Now he has two healthy children and I expect news of a third any day. You’ll see them when we arrive in King’s Landing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lysa shouted, “everything always goes </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly </span>
  </em>
  <span>for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya wasn’t certain whether to be angry on her mother’s behalf over that outburst or not. She turned to see her mother’s mouth tighten and anger flash in her blue eyes, yet when Lady Catelyn spoke her tone was as even and controlled as ever. First, she asked whether Sharra Royce or Cynthea Waynwood might suit only for Aunt Lysa to refuse even the idea of them for some reason or another. Finally, Mother said Bess Bracken might be an excellent choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is of an ancient House,” Mother said. “Better still, she has wide, sturdy childbearing hips that will settle the issue of succession.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the conversation continued, Arya bit her lip. This talk of childbaring brought forth the reality that this would be expected of her very soon. There would be no moon tea, as there had been when she and Aegon last had each other in Winterfell a year past. But this was no secret. She couldn’t understand why this was only now troubling her. Mayhaps it was the way they were casually discussing Bess’ body and how she could be used to solve a problem for a boy she likely never even thought of, let alone met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had Aegon and Princess Elia discussed her that way? Had they fretted over how skinny she was and wondered if her slim hips could survive multiple childbirths with healthy children?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t Bess meet Robert before you all start trying to marry her to him?” Arya blurted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having the girl meet him is the surest way to make certain there is no marriage,” Tyrion said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean by that, dwarf!” Aunt Lysa demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Arya pressed on. “Mother, you said it’s just as important for there to be happiness in a marriage as there is for practicality. If they don’t like each other they’re not likely to have an easy time making heirs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say that,” Uncle Edmure began, but refrained from expanding on those views at a look from his wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your girl is right!” Aunt Lysa told Mother. “My Robert has to like this girl or there will be no marriage. I will not help trap him with someone he has no love for. Not the way I was. I will not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was agreed that Aunt Lysa would extend an invitation for Bess and Lady Bracken to ride with her and Robert in their wheelhouse the next day to see how well she got on with them. It would be for Arya to approach Lord Bracken regarding the possible betrothal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make certain to instruct Bess to try to gain favor with Lysa as much as Robert,” Mother told her as they made their way back to the Stark camp. “She will be the one to convince. The Brackens should be delighted. Neither of Bess’ older sisters have so high ranking a husband. Should this match be made you will have the credit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya chewed her lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her family went their separate ways to retire to their own pavilions. So it was only Arya and Septa Florence who heard the hissed arguing coming from within Arya’s pavilion. The guards outside stared straight ahead as though they didn’t hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya charged inside and was met with a sudden hush. The ladies who remained in her pavilion were the younger, unwed girls. Joanna Umber, Wylla Manderly, and Myrielle Lannister must have retired with their husbands. Of those remaining, most of them gathered in a small knot at the center of the cloth room, while a few of the others busied themselves with embroidery or playing a board game. Regardless of what they were doing, every one of them hurriedly curtsied to their future queen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Arya demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of them spoke. She looked at Talia, but her friend looked down and retreated to the high harp in the corner of the room. So Arya didn’t press her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bethany and Bess were fighting,” Erena said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya turned to the girl who was playing backgammon with Lucinda Marbrand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bess said Ser Brandon would have trouble telling the difference between Bethany and his squire,” Erena continued. “On account of her being as flat as a boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling her own chest burning, Arya glared at Bess. Though the other girl’s eyes were downcast, her face was flush with fury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then Bethany said no one would marry Bess,” Erena continued, not looking up from her game. “On account of it being illegal to take a cow to wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya turned to Bethany in shock. She never would have thought that the shy, quiet girl was capable of it. Bethany’s usually pale face burned red under Arya’s gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, she was so angry, she didn’t know what to say. Septa Florence did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For shame, both of you!” the septa cried. “You were both paid the honor of serving in the queen’s household and this is how you behave? You have no notion how many Houses sought to place their own daughters exactly where you stand. If…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she chastised them, Arya tried to think what to do. Her lord father said that the words and acts of those in her service reflected on her in turn. By rights, she ought to be the one scolding them. Yet everything she thought of sounded petulant and childish. Arya had been warned that she would have trouble with these two fighting and she had intended to solve it by making them friends. So she </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>make them be friends with each other whether they liked it or no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am retiring for the night,” Arya announced formally. “Bess, Bethany, you will stay with me.” She tried to think of how her mother might dismiss them. “You all have my thanks and may go. Rest well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually, she and her ladies would talk about what they had seen that day and where they were going on the morrow while they readied for bed. But her companions were quiet, with only the resentful glares they exchanged with each other speaking for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do either of you want to come to court with me?” Arya asked bluntly, as soon as all three of them sat on her bed, facing each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other girls both spoke at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t send me home on account of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Bess cried. “She started it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s jealous and hateful of my betrothal to Ser Brandon!” Bethany insisted. “She can’t stand that I will be your sister!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re both to blame!” Arya shouted over them. “Do you want to come to court with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Your Grace,” Bethany said with an eager nod, using Arya’s future title prematurely. “I want to serve you ever so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, my lady!” Bess insisted. “All I have ever wanted was to go to court.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least you can agree on that,” Arya said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t at all surprised by their answer. She remembered how excited her sister Sansa had been when she was chosen to go to court as a lady-in-waiting to Daenerys, before Dany’s marriage to Robb. Arya also remembered how envious she had been since she hadn’t even visited King’s Landing before. Most girls and women seemed to feel the same desire to go to court part of one of the royals’ trains, being at the center of everything. Hopefully these two wanted their positions enough to put a millennia-long feud behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t have either of you in my household if you’re going to act like you did today,” Arya continued , looking back and forth between both of them. “Not even one more time. You won’t only be making yourselves look stupid, you’ll be making me look badly too. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” they both said as one.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Liars</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Arya thought, studying their downcast faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it,” she insisted. “You are both leaving court if you fight that way even one more time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Ser Brandon will be with us at court!” Bethany cried. “We’re to marry. We can’t be parted now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That reminded Arya that she meant to talk to her brother about his hesitance with Bethany. If she was reading him true, he might not wish to marry her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That will give you all the more reason to behave like a woman grown and not fight with Bess or anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Arya turned to Bess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, if you’re jealous about Bethany marrying my brother, don’t be,” Arya said. “My mother wants me to help arrange a match between you and my cousin, Robert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could see the string of emotions whirling through Bess Bracken at that news. In truth, Robert Arryn was a better match than Bran was. While her brother was a second son behind not only his brother but his brother’s children in the line of succession, her cousin was already Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East in his own right. Yet… Bran was a knight living his dreams from the songs and growing as tall, broad, and strong as their older brother. Meanwhile Robert was frail and sickly. The sight of his succumbing to shaking still twisted Arya’s heart with guilt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thank you,” Bess said, uncertainly. “And your lady mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya hugged her knees tightly to her chest. “I hope we deserve your thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be Lady of the Vale,” Bethany said, though the anger had given way to sympathy on her pale face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s a start</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Arya thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them talked well into the night about their betrothals, the lives they were leaving behind, and the exciting, fresh adventure that would greet them at court. Bess and Bethany both dreamed of tourneys, masks, singers, and mummer’s shows, while Arya was eager to explore the castle she had only heard about in Old Nan’s stories and help govern the realm as a member of Aegon’s council. When Bess asked how best to appeal to her potential husband and good mother, Arya’s answer was simple and plain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flatter them,” she said. “Flatter them again and again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of her ladies laughed at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless you don’t want to marry him,” Arya continued.. “In that case, be polite enough so your family has no cause to blame you, but be no more courteous than you need to be. That will be enough for them to decide you’re horrible and unworthy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bess’ face seemed to scrunch up in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Arya prodded. “It’s alright, we won’t tell. Will we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave Bethany a pointed look and the other girl shook her head. “We won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it so wrong that I…” Bess hugged her knees even tighter to her chest. “That I wish I might be the Lady of the Vale without having to marry Lord Robert? You are so fortunate, my lady. You will be queen </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>have a fine husband. I met the king during his progress through the Riverlands a few years ago. My father sat me or one of my sisters beside him at every meal and we made certain to be near him when we went hawking and riding. Why do you laugh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking of something stupid I heard about Aegon, is all,” Arya assured her, before her smile soured. “I don’t think you’re wrong. I understand why we have to marry and make alliances and such. My lady mother taught me. But it’s not fair that the only way we can rise high is if we marry high.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of her ladies stared down at their knees. Most like, their mother’s taught them the same. Questioning that was akin to questioning why the sun rose each day. But accepting the reality didn’t mean it grated any less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was younger, I asked my lady mother why I couldn’t have a holdfast of mine own like my aunt.” She chewed her lip to forestall the rage. “She explained how everything worked. You and your family are left weak without alliances and the firmest were mortared with marriage. The power we can have depends on the power our husbands have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how much power they agree to allow us,” Bess said, still not looking up from her knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was true enough,” Arya conceded. Not every lord took his wife’s counsel or even allowed them the charge of the castle’s accounts. Even fewer kings allowed their queen’s a place on their council. “My lady mother and I are lucky in our husbands.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And you won’t be if you’re wed to Robert Arryn with his mother hovering over you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “If you don’t want to marry Robert, I won’t push for the match.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’s a lord paramount and a warden,” Bethany cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s right.” Bess shook her head. “I would be a fool to refuse. Should Lord Arryn offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The infuriating part of it was, Bess was right. She would be a fool to refuse an offer from him or even attempt to prevent the offer from being made. Not only would her lord father accept regardless of how his daughter felt, but because there were few opportunities for Bess that could match it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What made this all the more ironic was that Bess was being given a far better prospect for a betrothal than Bethany did, yet the Bracken girl was miserable while the Blackwood was clearly well pleased with her match. Arya didn’t point that out to them, lest it push them away from the road to friendship she was attempting to lead them down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they drifted off to sleep, Arya was sure they were at least on better terms than they had been. Or they were doing well enough to pretend in front of her, which was a good step regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon the morrow, Bess Bracken joined the Arryns in their wheelhouse, intent on making the best impression she could while Bethany took it for granted that she would ride alongside Bran. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Arya, he still seemed discomforted by her, though he was polite enough. But after the initial courtesies, he focused more on asking Ser Arthur Dayne questions Arya had already asked weeks ago of all his famous adventures and victories. Arya rode directly ahead of them with Brienne and Talia, so she heard her brother shrugging his betrothed off while practically courting Ser Arthur. She turned around and glared at him a few times, but he only looked back at her, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they made camp at the end of the day, she made a point of cornering her brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would dine with you alone,” Arya told Bran. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” he said. “Mother invited me to dine with her and Father. You ought to come too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I need to talk to you alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran’s smile was mischievous. “Something you don’t want mother to hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t want Mother to hear,” Arya insisted. “I’m going to yell at you for how you’re treating Bethany.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile curdled on his face. “We ought to go for a walk then. Hurry! We can explore the wood along the stream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With only Lady Brienne and a few Winterfell men-at-arms following at a distance, Arya and Bran set out into the green with their wolves padding along beside them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Arya demanded. “Why are you treating Bethany like this? You don’t like her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The trouble isn’t that I mislike her,” Bran insisted. “I do like her. She’s very pretty. But I always dreamed of being one of the greatest knights in the kingdom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are,” Arya said. “And you can be Bethany’s husband too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “You know I dreamed of being a knight of the Kingsguard since we were children. Remember? Sansa was always Princess Elia sending me off to avenge her honor, you would be Wenda the White Fawn, and I would be Ser Arthur Dayne out to catch you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that memory brought freshly to mind, Arya chewed her lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was easier when we were only writing to each other,” Bran said. “I didn’t feel like I was ignoring her by putting her letter aside for a few days. Don’t look at me that way! How many men did you refuse? I lost count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t refuse Bethany, stupid,” Arya said. “You have been betrothed for years. You’ll break her heart and humiliate her if you put her aside now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Face flushed, Bran stared determinedly ahead at the stream they approached. “I didn’t want to disappoint, Mother, is all. You’re lucky. You don’t worry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya rolled her eyes, but refrained from telling him what a lie that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they stopped at the stream, Nymeria and Summer raced ahead along the streambed, clearly catching the scent of game. Arya frowned at the water, not knowing what to do. Bran deserved to reach for his dream and the life he wanted. But this would make everything so much harder with Bethany, especially if Bess became engaged to Robert. The two were certain to fight again, only this time Bess would have the upper hand. Though from the sounds of things, her marriage would likely come close on the heels of Arya’s own with Robert needing an heir as soon as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think Ser Arthur will give you Ser Barristan’s cloak?” Arya asked, still chewing her lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran finally looked at her again, his blue eyes full of hope, and she knew yet another person wanted something from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I can get you this cloak?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They say the king is in love with you,” Bran said and leaned into her playfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean I can start choosing the Knights of the Kingsguard,” she insisted. “Desmera would have me push for her brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would ask the king to name some brother of Uncle Edmure’s wife over me?” he asked, his face a mask of hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Arya shouted, chest tight with frustration at it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At her outburst, a flock of birds took flight in a flurry of flapping wings. Bran glanced back and she followed his gaze to their guards standing alert at a distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spark of irritation quickly faded and she suddenly felt contrite. It wasn’t Bran’s fault that everyone she encountered was asking her for favors all of a sudden. Out of all of them, he deserved to benefit from her rise to queen the most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What of your duty to Bethany?” Arya asked. “What of the lands and castle Father means to grant you? He’s coming to speak with Aegon about settling you and other lords in the New Gift to help sustain the Wall. He has a letter from Uncle Benjen agreeing to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran shuffled beside her. “You sound like Mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. “Mother would have already told you no and she would ask the king to never let you have any white cloak unless a wolf was on the back of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you won’t? You will speak to him for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What of Bethany?” Arya demanded. “And those lands Father promised you? When I told Mother I wanted a keep of my own like Aunt Lya, she said there weren’t any left. But there’s one for you and Rickon and all these other lords.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran laughed. “You don’t want to be in some keep. You’re about to be the queen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know! But still, it’s not fair. Are you going to answer me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raked his fingers through his red hair. “She might marry Rickon. He could hold those lands after the king knights him. When Ser Barristan became a white knight, he gave up his inheritance and his betrothed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he knew that, Arya bit her lip. “Bethany’s stupid enough to love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not stupid and she doesn’t love me,” he insisted. “This is the third time we’ve met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was probably true. “I will ask Aegon to choose you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a hoot, Bran swept her up and twirled her about, heedless of the guards watching from a distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, you stupid!” Arya shouted, laughing. “Put me down!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will all be for the good,” Bran insisted, setting her down. “You’ll be queen, I will be a Knight of the Kingsguard, and Rickon will serve as the king’s squire. Mother and Father can’t be anything but proud of us all. As proud as they are of Robb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing the happiness and certainty in Bran’s face, she could only be certain too. He would be the first Stark to serve in the Kingsguard. Father and Mother could only be pleased. Bethany and the Blackwoods couldn’t be offended. Not if it was the king’s own decree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that reasoning, she couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty every time she saw Bethany, who seemed completely taken with Bran. It was a relief for many reasons when the journey neared its end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the day before they would reach King’s Landing, their party stopped early so riders might be sent ahead to tell of their coming and arrangements could be made for a grand entry into the city. It sounded like a stupid amount of fuss to Arya, but at least it gave her and Talia an opportunity for a sparring lesson with Brienne. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drew the attention of a number of onlookers, some bewildered and others, like Ser Arthur, who cheered them on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lady knight’s fighting style was very different from what she had learned with Aunt Lya. Arya had always needed to account for her smaller size, knowing that most of her opponents would be larger than her. Brienne was even taller than the opponents she was used to facing in the yard, yet quick as well. But few were as quick as Arya. It was like a dance, staying outside of her reach in one moment and darting in so close the other woman’s longer reach was more of a hindrance. Her speed wasn’t always enough to counter her opponent. Arya and Talia “died” far more often than Brienne did, but they each got past her guard enough to be very proud of themselves by the time they called an end to the sparring. It was good practice for all of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I confess, you both know more than I expected,” the Maid of Tarth said, when they finished for the evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My aunt and her guards trained us,” Arya explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Lady Lyanna is a warrior too,” Talia said, her face still flushed from exertion. “Back at Ironrath, our master-at-arms, Ser Royland, taught me a few things as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might you continue our training at King’s Landing?” Arya asked. “When you’re not guarding Queen Rhaella?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne’s blue eyes grew wide and her face reddened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment Arya worried she had offended her, but had no idea how. While they spared, all shyness had melted away from the older woman. Yet, now with one question, she seemed terrified of her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Arya said quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Brienne insisted. “I mean, yes. I-I do want to. I would be honored to give you training, my lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile that spread across the Maid of Tarth’s face was infectious and Arya found herself grinning back, though she couldn’t understand why asking this made the other woman so happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parted when Septa Florence came to usher Arya off to bed, fretting over how much work was to be done on the morrow. That work centered on making Arya as beautiful as possible. An epic task if there ever was one, requiring a thorough night’s sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where Arya was wrong in her expectations for the journey was with her mother critiquing her clothing choices. Each day, she had climbed into the saddle in a pair of riding leathers or wore a Northern gown while being feasted by the different lords they passed along the way. Yet, Lady Catelyn had said not a word nor even made a suggestion. At least she didn’t until the morning they were to arrive in King’s Landing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Arya arose that morning, Wyla Manderly, her mistress of the robe, presented her with a white gown trimmed with grey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Stark bid me dress you in this,” the green haired woman said, raising her blond eyebrows. “It is very beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya made a face as a couple of her other ladies undressed her. “It is. It looks uncomfortable to ride in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayhaps, but we will all wear our finest,” Wylla said. “You will make a magnificent impression upon your people in this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did my mother tell you to say that?” Arya asked, stepping into the heated water of her tub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile brightened Wylla’s face. “Aye, she did indeed, and it is the truth besides. No after what you wear here on after, the people of King’s Landing will still remember you as a vision in white on the day you came to them. And of course you will best yourself on your wedding day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While her ladies took the opportunity to ready themselves in their lady-in-waiting dresses, Arya endured being scrubbed until her skin was raw by Mara and Gwen, two maid servants under the watchful eye of Septa Florence. Then they washed and combed the knots out of her hair. Once she was toweled dry, she was fit to be placed  into the gown, though she refused the stinky scents they threatened her with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like a princess!” Erena cried as they stood before a polished mirror. The little girl was already dressed in her white and grey lady-in-waiting gown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She does,” Mother’s voice confirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya turned to see Lady Catelyn beaming at her from the entrance of the pavilion. Her ladies parted to allow Mother through. She took Arya’s hands and held them up, admiring her. For once, she seemed to find nothing wanting, not even in the smallness of her breasts. In that moment, Arya felt as beautiful as they said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, you could be lovely if you put in the effort,” Mother said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the feeling turned to ash in Arya’s mouth. She dropped Mother’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the effort of my ladies and maids, not me,” Arya said, turning back to the polished glass. “Anyway, I’m not done. I still need to braid my hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya mostly kept her hair in simple braids to keep the tresses out of her face. Though now that she had more and more ladies, they were giving her more elaborate braids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will look best with your hair loose about your shoulders,” Mother said. “That will create a more mainely image rather than a child in braids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Septa Florence agreed. “You will look the image of the maiden herself this day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya rolled her eyes. “I want my hair out of my face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A compromise then,” Mother said calmly. “Your hair looked very fine at Harrenhal. Whose work was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was about to snap that she couldn't possibly remember when Cynthea Waynwood took the credit. Abruptly, she felt ashamed for not recalling. It was only that Arya was always restless while her hair was being done and needed her other ladies to keep her occupied with conversation or stories. So she didn’t always pay attention to the one dressing her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do fine work,” Mother told her. “If you could do something similar now, perhaps with lengths of silver woven in. Not too much. We must keep some finery in reserve for the wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, while the bottom portion of her hair remained loose, the rest was swept up into braids, some smaller ones that mingled in her loose hair while the rest folded into a larger braid in the back. Arya couldn’t see the effort, but they all insisted she looked even lovelier now that her hair was done the way Mother wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once I am wed, you won’t have a say in what I wear,” Arya noted as lightly as she could once most of her ladies were off busying themselves for their departure, supervising the packing. “I can wear my riding leathers every day if I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catelyn stared at her steadily. “When you are queen, you will set the fashion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya jolted. That wasn’t the response she expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will set the fashion?” Arya repeated. “How will I do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole court watches the king and queen and takes their cue from them,” Mother explained, smoothing Arya’s white sleeves. “Though you may find it prudent to ease them into anything too drastic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya studied her mother, wondering if she was telling it true or if she was merely sidestepping an argument. It was hard to tell as she fascened a grey cloak with a wolf pin about Arya’s shoulders. Still, the words held truth. Should Arya dress as she wished, no one could gainsay her save Aegon himself and mayhaps his council. But she would be on that council and Aegon never made a complaint about how she dressed in Winterfell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abruptly, the reality that she would see him in less than an hour dawned upon her. He would become more than just ink on a parchment once more. The thought of it sent a thrill through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother was going over the formation of the column again, but Arya could hardly pay attention. The moons-long journey was nearly at an end and the purpose of it all would finally come to pass in only a week more. She was being stupid, but she felt light-headed at the thought. Everything was changing and not just for the moment but forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you miss Riverrun?” Arya blurted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Catelyn’s eyes widened in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After you came to Winterfell to live with Father?” she clarified. “Did you miss your home and your family? How long was it before you didn’t miss them anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed Riverrun long before I reached Winterfell,” Mother explained. “From Riverrun, I traveled to King’s Landing with Robb and my father and uncle. He was fostered there very young as part of the peace that was made. I stayed with him for months longer than I was meant to. I ached to bring my babe home to Riverrun. But I eventually had to leave him there and take ship to the North.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother seemed intent on adjusting the wolf pin at Arya’s throat that secured the grey cloak she had embroidered with white snowflakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe I stopped missing Riverrun until I had you and Sansa to comfort me,” she said. “By then, I had grown to love your father and he had grown to love me in turn. Soon enough, Bran came and I ceased thinking of Riverrun as home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya bit her lip. That sounded like a very long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet one, it is natural to be nervous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not nervous,” Arya lied automatically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother looked at her with that knowing look she used. “Of course not. You will ride through the gates of King’s Landing with confidence surrounded by all of your family and allies. There is naught to fear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though forming the column took thrice as long as usual since this was the most important march and some were more insistent upon precedent than before, they were soon on the move again. This time, Lady Brienne and Ser Arthur took position at the head bearing the royal standard of House Targaryen as Arya’s honor guard, while Arya herself rode beside Father. She would have had Nymeria beside her as well, but Mother insisted that they didn’t want to frighten the citizens of King’s Landing the second they arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Introduce yourself to the commons first so they might grow used to you,” she had said, “and allow them to see the direwolves as little as possible until they seem commonplace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so the four wolves kept Lady Catelyn company in her wheelhouse for the remainder of the journey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only an hour more closed the distance and they were riding through what Ser Arthur said was the Gate of the Gods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Along with a blend of Targaryen and Stark banners, the small square was packed tight with a sea of faces, excitedly chattering, their eyes crawling over every inch of her. For one of the few times in her life, Arya found herself desperately worried about how she looked, if her hair had been ruined during the ride, or if her gown looked ridiculous draped over her horse. With so many eyes upon her, she could only feel like something must be wanting about her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Men-at-arms came forward to clear a path for them through the pointing throng. An instant later, Aegon came into view, riding his black and red stallion, flanked by a pair of white knights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would have rushed over to embrace him, but they all had stupid formalities and courtesies to recite to each other as Aegon welcomed them to the city and they told him how thankful they were to be received. Just when Arya thought the courtesies were through and they could finally enter the Red Keep so she might greet the king properly, Aegon gestured behind himself and dismounted. A young man in black and red livery stepped up beside the king and handed him a set of reins. The horse he led forth was a smoky, speckled grey with a silky white mane, as slim and sleek as Aegon’s own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she even had time to think of dismounting, Arya was already on the ground rushing forward. “She’s beautiful! Is she mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She carefully approached the horse, certain to make eye contact before stroking the warm, silvery coat. She was the loveliest thing Arya ever saw, with lively blue eyes that watched her curiously. Arya was already in love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon grinned. “I had thought to gift her to Lord Stark, but if you insist, my lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shut up, you know she’s mine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya jolted at the roar of laughter that erupted from the crowd around them. She even heard Father chuckling behind her. At a glance, she saw the sea of smiling faces directed at her. Delight and self-consciousness surged through her at once, leaving her light-headed. Turning back to Aegon, she focused on him to reclaim her bearings. His smile broadened, lilac eyes bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So she is, my lady,” he said with a slight bow before helping her into the saddle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it wasn’t for the restrictive dress, she could have swung into the saddle herself. As it was, the bodice was purposefully cinched so tight, she could scarcely bend and the skirts were impossible to wrangle. Thankfully, Wylla had rushed forward to help her straighten them so they draped prettily over the sand steed. As they rode through the city, Arya tried to take everything in, but there was too much to retain all at once, especially with all the people watching her and calling out her name. The only structure that was impossible to miss was the rust-red castle that loomed overall. The Red Keep, she knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you order them to welcome me like this?” Arya asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Aegon winked at her. “We increased food donations in your name for the past fortnight and promised them beer and wine tonight to celebrate your arrival. They will receive more the night of our wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s what they’re making so much noise for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya kept smiling down at them, the muscles in her face beginning to ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And for you,” he insisted. “Your coming has gladdened them. Your coming has made me </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him, biting the inside of her lip. “For true?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, I’ve missed you greatly since we parted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You missed an unwed daughter who followed you about at every meal and hunt?” Arya raised her eyebrows at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king stared back at her in confusion for a moment and then his eyes widened. “It seems the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard has turned traitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Arthur rode ahead of them, but gave no sign that he heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have no fear on my account,” Arya continued. “I’ll be content to wait outside the door while you use the privy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Arthur mention that I found you to be the exact opposite of what I expected?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did. But what I never mentioned to you was how relieved I was that my lord father and lady mother never pushed for a match between us. Almost every other suitor felt false and I had to be false too.So when they told me I was the most beautiful and elegant lady they had ever met or if they lied about how lovely my voice is, I couldn’t tell them how stupid they were unless I wanted a scolding. We had no need to lie to one another. It meant I could like you. Like you enough to marry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face was a mask of confusion. “But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tease me,” Arya insisted, before remembering to add the, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Your Grace</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I was being honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king laughed. “As was I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then, they had reached the base of the hill leading up to the Red Keep and began their climb, still smiling at the commons who had gathered to watch them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyhow, I missed you too,” Arya admitted. “Very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon reached over to take her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. The cheers around them grew ever louder. The king kept hold of her hand as they rode through the gates of the Red Keep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything happened quickly once they entered the castle. Aegon’s family and court were already lined up to meet them. They knelt as one at their approach only for the king to order them back to their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they all dismounted and Lady Catelyn had descended from the wheelhouse, Aegon proceeded to introduce the Starks to his family. Dany, Elia, Robb, and Alarra Arya already knew of course, though she embraced them anyway. But there was also Rhaella, the queen dowager, handsome and straight-backed even with silver hair and wrinkles; Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper and master of whispers, with his dark eyes and widow’s peak; lovely and lively Princess Rhaenys, her curly-haired husband, Willas Tyrell, and their two oldest children, Leo and Elaena; Prince Viserys, a shorter, ruddier, and stiffer version of Aegon, with his wife Arianne, the ruling Princess of Dorne, and her heir, Mariah, who would serve as one of Arya’s ladies, and her son, Nymor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time all the introductions and courtesies were recited, the four wolves in the wheelhouse had begun howling and received a pair of answering howls in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ought to meet Nymeria,” Arya said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More wolves!” Prince Viserys shouted, a sneer twisting what should have been comely features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More wolves, how wonderful,” Princess Elia said quickly. “They will find a comfortable home in our godswood with the other two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya bit back a protest at the princesses’ gracious smile. She grinned back at her in turn, fully intending to bring Nymeria to her rooms as soon as she was settled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The introduction of the direwolves went well enough. The white knights formed up without a word around Aegon, tensed for action. But the precaution was unnecessary. Once they opened the door of the wheelhouse to find gold, green, and red eyes staring back, each wolf raced to their master at a word. Absently stroking Nymeria’s soft grey fur, Arya wondered how much bigger the direwolf would grow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aegon.” She turned to the king, who was stepping up, curiously. “This is Nymeria.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have been schooled in how to approach a wolf by encountering Robb’s Grey Wind and Alarra’s Vhagar because he held out his hand, palm down. Nymeria gave him a sniff and a lick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well met,” he said with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, he ran his hand over the direwolf’s fur, lightly brushing Arya’s own fingers before joining their hands. The simple gesture sparked through her. She might have pulled Aegon to her then, but the moment was stolen when Mother begged leave to be brought to their rooms to rest and prepare for the feast that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chambers the steward led them to wasn’t the queen’s apartments in Maegor’s, but they were spacious and she wouldn’t be in them long anyhow. The wedding was less than a week away. She found herself eager for it. As it was, her ladies-in-waiting already resided either in the dorter in Maegor’s or in apartments they shared with their husbands. She would meet the remaining ladies and her chief lady-in-waiting, Marilda Velaryon, at the feast that night or later when they were sworn into her service. She looked forward to seeing Alla Tyrell and Cassana Baratheon again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said he was as beautiful as Dany, but I don’t think I believed you,” Talia whispered later that afternoon as she helped Arya get ready for the feast that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s ridiculous how beautiful he is, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both laughed, earning perturbed looks from a couple of the other ladies, that were quickly washed away with smiles. Arya refused to let herself  care what they were thinking. This was meant to be a happy time and she could scarcely wait to see her betrothed alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Arya wasn’t able to be alone with Aegon until the next day. Though seated together at the feast, they were constantly surrounded by their family and members of the court commanding their attention. Even the next day, alone meant going for a ride on their sand steeds along the beach north of the city with a large retinue of ladies, guards, and courtiers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya and Aegon soon outstripped their companions and raced along the beach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My love,” the king began when they slowed to a gentler pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya felt herself flush stupidly. He always called her that in his letters, but this was the first time he said it aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My love,” she returned confidently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At Winterfell, there was a sept and a septon, I recall. And of course your septa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she agreed, studying his profile for any hint of where he might be heading with this. “Septon Chayle and Septa Florence have been at Winterfell for years. We had Septa Mordane too, but she was Sansa’s septa and went to Casterly Rock with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon turned to look at her with relief. “You do worship the Seven then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose,” she said. “I worship them in the sept with Mother and the old gods in the godswood with Father. What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured Arya, bending to the side to take her hand. “It’s only that, I was hoping you could make a bit of a show of piety before the wedding. Going to the Sept of Baelor to ask for the blessing of the High Septon. Mayhaps attend a  few devotions-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya scoffed in disbelief. “Even you!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king jolted. “Even me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone has been wanting something from me. Council seats, white cloaks, places for their family. You were supposed to be the one who only wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do want you!” Aegon answered back hotly, before glancing over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya looked too. Their companions were still a distance away. They continued to allow them space while keeping them in view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt the king’s warm lips against her knuckles and turned back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t let them think we’re quarrelling already,” he said, a look of mischief in his purple eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> quarrelling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> quarrel,” Aegon insisted. “I will tell it true. A begging brother has been ranting about you in Cobbler’s Square for the last turn of the moon. Don’t get angry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>angry!” she said. “I only just arrived. Why is he ranting about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re a northerner. A savage northerner who drinks blood from skulls and worships trees. He claims you disdain the Faith of the Seven and mean to taint the throne with your ungodliness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. Drinking from skulls? “I ought to drink blood from the begging brother’s skull next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon grinned. “Best not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should talk to him then,” she decided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Best not do that either. We can’t be seen giving him any undue attention. At the council’s behest, the High Septon has been preaching of your virtues. Even better, when you arrived, you put a lie to his words. He claimed you were a step above a Wildling. The entire city saw a beautiful maiden in white surrounded by the power of the North, the Riverlands, Westerlands, and the Vale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt herself blush again at him calling her beautiful, so she looked straight ahead. “Maiden?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maiden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I had told you I didn’t worship the Seven? Would you have sent me home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time Aegon scoffed. “My love! I would have asked you to pretend. A few visits to the sept. Some polite words to the High Septon. Mayhaps you keep me from being bored at a few services. Nothing more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I asked you to worship in the godswood?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already worshiped you in the godswood. But we can make a habit of it if you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya tugged on his hand. “You had better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a promise.” He grinned at her. “But tell me, who wants these white cloaks and council seats?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a roll of her eyes, Arya recounted all the requests she received. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I don’t know how good a knight that Hobber Redwyne is, but Bran deserves to be a Knight of the Kingsguard,” she said. At the hesitant look in Aegon’s violet eyes, she rushed on. “He has wanted this since we were children. He knows everything about all the famous white swords and he earned his knighthood in battle against the mountain clans. And that wasn’t even the first or last time he fought them. He even won a tourney as a mystery knight. There’s no one better in all Westeros to replace Ser Barristan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My love, that… might not be true,” Aegon said, staring straight ahead at the dirt trail their horses carried them down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> true,” she insisted. “Bran-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-is a valiant knight,” the king said, squeezing her fingers. “But he only just reached knighthood a few months past. He isn’t so well known outside of the North and the Vale. More than that, my grandmother wishes for Lady Brienne to receive the white cloak. Ser Arthur has been looking through the possible choices, but he is of the same mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, all of Arya’s arguments ran dry. Lady Brienne would be a knight? A Knight of the Kingsguard? A woman would become a knight in truth, not just a sworn shield? Not even the songs gave knighthood to women, nevermind the histories. She had only just met the Maid of Tarth, yet everything she had heard and seen of her told that she deserved this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Bran...He deserved his dreams too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re upset,” Aegon noted, his jaw flexing. “I can’t say I wish to gainsay grandmother or Ser Arthur on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you shouldn’t,” Arya said, miserably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued riding in silence for some time, hands still clasped together. She was struggling to find the right words to explain to Bran why she couldn’t get him the cloak she promised. Yet, nothing came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayhaps, I have a solution,” Aegon said thoughtfully. “I might give Ser Brandon, Ser Hobber, and Lady Brienne their chances at earning a place amongst the Kingsguard should they become champion at the jousts or perhaps the melee. That way the best knight will win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seemed a fair compromise, as far as Arya could see. She had no wish to displace Brienne, but at least this gave Bran a chance to earn the cloak he wanted so much. Later, when she told him of the compromise, he was so elated, she thought he might spin her around, hooting again. But he restrained himself to an embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This will be like the War for the White Cloaks from the stories!” he exclaimed. “I will earn that cloak, you’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She returned the embrace, wishing the guilt would stop gnawing at her insides.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Arya didn’t exactly disobey her king and future husband. She made no effort to speak to the begging brother who preached against her. No, she and Talia simply slipped into pairs of breeches and doublets, tucked their hair into hats, and set out to explore the city where part of that exploring would naturally lead them to Cobbler’s Square. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their plan worked well enough as the eyes of everyone they passed slid beyond them as though they were pieces of furniture. That was until they reached the outer courtyard and ran into Elia Sand. The other woman was about to stroll past them on her way into the castle when her eyes found Arya’s and widened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady,” Arya said in a low tone, inclining her head slightly without breaking her stride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a booming laugh, Elia joined them as they casually made their way out of the castle gates and down the hill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me,” El demanded, once they made it a safe distance away. “I’m missing a game of bowls for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was your choice,” Arya said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just the same, tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She explained what the king told her of the begging brother. “I would hear what he has to say about me for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what he could have to complain about,” Talia said. “You haven’t had the chance to do anything yet..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That man has nothing to say about her,” El insisted. “He’s not talking about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Aegon said-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The begging brother is complaining of the Northern match,” Lady Lance pressed on. “He doesn’t know nor care about you. All he knows is you’re from the North. They play the same way with my father and aunt. Any time a crop fails, they say the Red Viper poisoned it. Any time a season changes for the worse, they say it’s the gods' displeasure that the Dornish hold the throne. It is naught to do with you. They’ll hate any Northerner or Dornishman who dares get too close to power here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya bit her lip and weighed that in her mind. The Northerners were much the same with Mother and Dany. They hadn’t accepted either of them at first and resented the existence of the small sept Father had built for Mother. They had warmed to both of them over time. Yet whenever there was a grievance, the vassals were quick to remember that they were both outsiders and to blame for anything gone amiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, most like,” Arya admitted as they reached the foot of Aegon’s High Hill. “But I want to hear what he has to say, just the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the way to Cobbler’s Square, El pointed out various sites and shops that ought to be frequented or avoided. Of particular note was a business owned by a group of Dornish seamstresses that she gestured in the general direction of, a couple streets away on the Street of Looms. If Arya were truly to take the lead in the fashions, as Mother noted, the efforts would begin on that street. If El’s garb was any indication, they made breeches, tunics, and even dublets that were women’s clothing, not men’s clothing that women might sneak about in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the trio reached their destination, they found a man garbed in a woolen robe tied at the waist with hempen rope shouting at anyone in earshot. Arya was relieved to see that only a handful of people stood directly around him. Most of the square was filled with craftsmen and women peddling their wares and prospective customers going from booth to booth. The young women inspected the booths while keeping an ear open to the begging brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do not be fooled!” he cried. “Children of the Seven, do not be fooled! The savage North has descended upon our holy city and has wormed its way into the very heart of this kingdom. The wildling girl may dress herself in silks, but beneath the charade lies a barbarian aiming to taint the throne itself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hot pies!” a boy cried out, pushing a cart. “Hot pies! Get your hot pies!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every true man knows that the North is a savage, wild place where they worship tree demons and practice blood sacrifice!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hot pies! Hot pies!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even in her sweet disguise, our doom was foretold!” the begging brother thundered. “She cloaked herself in snowflakes! These past two years have seen a fruitful spring, but make no mistake, she will bring the winter with her! A winter of the likes we have never seen! She has the mark of the beast upon her! As do all those Northern savages she brought with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get your hot pies here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Talia snorted and grinned sideways at Arya.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weaver whose shawls and blankets they inspected looked up at her reproachfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do good work,” the girl said quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Arya nodded. “Good work. That man, he sounds mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, him?” the weaver scowled over at the begging brother. “Don’t pay him no mind. No one else does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s fewer than there were listening to him,” a man at another booth admitted. “But he’s not wrong about the mark o’ the beast. I heard it from my cousin, she’s a washerwoman in the castle. They got themselves a whole pack o’ them wolves with them. They kept ‘em hidden when they came in with the king, but the first two were marched straight through the streets, bold as you please when the princess and her young lord came by sea. Keeping wolves like that... It ain’t natural.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No more natural than keeping dragons,” the weaver insisted. “The Lady Arya is a fine, good woman. She’s been giving out food and wine, hasn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shook his head. “It’s not natural. No, it’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya and Talia each purchased a woven blanket from the weaver and continued on. The three of them only listened to the begging brother for the time it took them to visit two more booths. It was all the same. It galled her that more people would be listening to that man were it not Aegon increasing donations in her name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t I tell you?” El asked as they turned in the direction of the Red Keep. “His words mean little more than nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could be worse, but it still isn’t any good,” Talia said, on their way back to the Red Keep. “What do you mean to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What Aegon asked of me,” Arya said. “A show of piety.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>El gave her an arch look. “Ah, so you don’t worship tree demons, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I do- Heart trees aren’t demons! But I worship the Seven too and everyone should know it so that begging brother can shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon returning to the Red Keep, Arya parted from El and prepared to leave the castle again, this time dressed as herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Septa Florence,” she said, pulling off her cap and letting her hair fall loose. “Send word to the High Septon that I would meet with him today or on the morrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayhaps we can phrase it as begging the honor of seeing his High Holiness,” the septa suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya nodded. “Bethany, tell my mother I would speak to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other girl curtsied and hurried off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As expected, Lady Catelyn came to her well before the response from the High Septon. Mother’s beautiful features were creased in concern as she rushed in on Arya, Wylla, and Marilda Velaryon trying to decide what she ought to wear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is something amiss?” Mother asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Arya said with a sigh before detailing her conversation with Aegon and what she heard in Cobbler’s Square. “So now, because I have the mark of the beast on me, I have to make shows of piety.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You went disguised as boys into the city?” Lady Catelyn demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Marilda looked scandalized as well, but her mouth remained tightly sealed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point, Mother! I had to hear what this man was saying about me. Aegon said I shouldn’t speak to him directly so I have to prove he’s a liar. That’s why I mean to go to the Sept of Baelor and ask for the High Septon’s blessing. If the whole city sees us go, they can’t say I’m a savage who only worships trees. They’ll know that I worship at the heart tree </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the sept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wry smile touched Lady Catelyn’s face. “Though you are still a savage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mother! I wanted to ask if you would come with me. I thought taking any of my ladies who worship the Seven would help some, but they have to see what a lady my mother is too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That might hide the fact that Arya wasn’t much of a lady herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it will help and more than ‘some’,” Catelyn said. “You are doing well, sweet one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those simple words shouldn’t have made Arya feel the burst of pride that it did. She didn’t have time to bask in the feeling as Mother continued to discuss which of her gowns she would wear. They all agreed she must appear pure, humble, and pious. That meant her simple, unadorned white dress would be best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, the High Septon was prepared to receive her whenever she wished. If she went right that moment, she would have more than enough time to return to the Red Keep for the small council meeting scheduled for just after the midday meal. So it was that she rode out on her silver sand steed to the Great Sept of Baelor with a retinue of ladies and her own household guards garbed in grey cloaks bordered with white satin. Even Septa Florence rode with them in a place of prominence beside Lady Catelyn and just behind Arya. Such a large party couldn’t go unnoticed as many had to make way for them and she heard her name called from several voices. With any luck, the commons would take note of where she was going and some might even follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His High Holiness awaited them on the steps of Baelor’s, several of the Most Devout lined up behind him. A thick waisted man in white robes with a weirwood staff topped with a crystal orb in his hand, he looked on benevolently as her party dismounted and climbed the stairs. Rainbows danced around his crown of spun gold and crystal as he stood up straighter and held out his hand to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As had been discussed before setting out, Arya and the rest of her party knelt before him. She kissed his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you come here, my child?” the High Septon asked in ringing tones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your High Holiness, I am Arya of House Stark,” she recited stiffly. “I come to beg for the honor of your blessing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worshiping the old gods was so much simpler and involved far less kneeling and lying. The High Septon had clearly been prepared in advance for this meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Arya, your piety and generosity are well-known throughout the kingdoms,” he proclaimed. “The Maiden has already blessed you with beauty, gentleness, and grace. The Mother has bestowed on you a loving, merciful heart. The Crone has lit your way to wisdom. It humbles me to bestow my own blessing alongside theirs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every ounce of restraint Arya possessed strained to keep her from bursting out into laughter as the High Septon rested a hand on her head and began reciting six prayers blessing her with the virtues of six of the seven aspects of the gods. Throughout the process, Arya prayed to both the old gods and the new that this gesture would be enough to keep the people thinking well of her. This gesture and her acts of generosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The High Septon had insisted on leading her inside and guiding her around Baelor. All the pious talk nearly made her late and she only escaped when she did by telling him the king and council awaited her. Once back in the Red Keep, she hurried to find the small council chamber.  Marilda showed her the way while the rest of their party dispersed. They had the good fortune to encounter Aegon and Ser Arthur en route, and they escorted her the rest of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t waste time,” the king exclaimed when she told him of her trip to Baelor’s. “I had thought we might arrange a visit at this meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That took her aback. “Should I have waited? I thought I ought to get that done straight away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love how decisive you are,” he insisted, taking her hand. “This will be a fine way to begin the meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s brows furrowed. “If you didn’t mean for me to act until after this meeting, why did you tell me to make a show of piety before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have found it is best to discuss some issues before small council meetings to smooth out any complications,” Aegon explained. “I also had no notion of how you might react.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remembering her reaction, she realized that had been for the best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meeting began promising enough with everyone greeting her warmly or at least with courtesy. Princess Elia embraced her. Jon Connington, the Hand of the King, bowed his head in acknowledgment. Queen Rhaella kissed her cheek while Monford Velaryon and Oberyn Martell both kissed her hand. Stephen Darry, the master of laws, gave her a bow and old Grand Maester Vorian clasped her hand and gushed over the joy her arrival had sparked through the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Aegon predicted, the announcement that the High Septon bestowed his blessing on Arya in full view of the city was well received. But a long silence met the king’s announcement that the seventh member of the Kingsguard would be the winner of the joust celebrating their marriage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Ser Arthur said. “But I thought we were of one mind that the Lady Brienne would receive the white cloak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The matter was settled,” Rhaella confirmed. “I wrote to her father to tell him we meant to publicly commend Lady Brienne for her service to the Iron Throne during the tourney. He traveled all this way to witness this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon shifted in his seat and glanced at Arya. She could only imagine how he felt. Her own stomach twisted with guilt. The sensation only worsened when she realized that all of the council members had followed his gaze to her. Arya could see the comprehension tightening their features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will commend Lady Brienne for her service at the start of the tourney,” Aegon said. “I will knight her myself before all the realm. Should she win the joust, I will proudly secure the white cloak to her shoulders as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More silence followed. Arya noticed the queen dowager shifting her gaze, mouth pinched, while an expressionless mask fell over Ser Arthur’s usually warm face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is all to the good,” Jon Connington said. “Knighthood and a place at court is more than the woman requires. We ought to send her home so she might marry and gladen her father with grandchildren.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Discomfort contorting into rage, Arya was responding before taking the time to consider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If Brienne wanted that, she would go back to Tarth on her own,” she said. “But if she wants to be a knight, she can. She ought to have been a knight long before now if everything was fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connington’s blue eyes hardened. “You mean to be a knight too, I take it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said I wanted to be a knight,” Arya snapped. “That’s Bran. I only said Lady Brienne deserved to be knighted long ago. She’s already a knight in every other way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is,” Rhaella said tightly. “I have no notion why she must prove her worth, yet again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Grace, forgive me, but you know me to be a man of plain speech,” Stephen Darry said. “So let us be clear. Our future queen wishes for one of her brother’s to gain the white cloak? Most like, she has a candidate in mind to replace our master of coin now that he has left us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya felt heat rise to her face. But Aegon’s response out-paced her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No announcement has been made of Garth’s departure from the council,” Aegon said hotly, his harsh tone belying the measured words. “His successor will be discussed in council. Should Lady Arya have suggestions, we will consider them, just as any of yours will be considered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Grace, we cannot give in to every whim-” Connington began, but Aegon rode over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is to be my wife and queen,” he snapped. “Again. Arya has as much right to advise me as any of you. I promised her a place on my council.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw Jon Connington’s jaw clench under his white and red beard, but he made no reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is true that Arya spoke in favor of Ser Brandon,” the king continued. “To make certain the worthiest knight is chosen, I decided to allow the choice to be made by the tourney.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An even more uncomfortable silence stretched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Grace,” Grand Maester Vorian began. “I believe you and your betrothed have the right of it. Allowing the tourney to decide this matter will allow for the possibility of </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>great knight to win, should the gods favor them. Any man of skill who has not caught our Lord Commander’s notice as yet may claim the cloak. That can only be for the good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That it is,” Monford Velaryon agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Arthur, Queen Rhaella, and Princess Elia all went taut as bowstrings while Arya bit her lip, realizing what she had done. This was no competition between Bran and Brienne. No. Anyone might try their luck and come away with the white cloak. And it seemed half the council had already wished for an opportunity to prevent Ser Arthur’s choice. Her mind thrumbed with, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that anyone but Bran or Brienne might win. How could she be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>? If only she had kept her stupid mouth shut, Brienne would have been named to the Kingsguard while Arya could have waited for another place to open for Bran. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aegon,” Princess Elia said softly. “I have no wish to refute your decision, but it seems to me that a jousting champion is not the same as a Kingsguard knight. Mayhaps the melee with all participants on foot would be a better judge of their talents. After all, assassins aren’t likely to meet you in the lists.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they aren’t likely to meet me in the lists when you are all agreed that I shouldn’t enter the lists to begin with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was surprised by the note of petulance in the king’s tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They will come for you on foot in shadowy hallways or strolling through the streets,” Oberyn said, as though the comment hadn’t been made. “It will make no matter how well your guards ride a horse at a known opponent then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon nodded. “The champion of the melee will earn their place among the Knights of the Kingsguard. Let it be known and advise the master of the games of the change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throughout the rest of the meeting, Arya did more listening than speaking. She followed along with each turn of the conversation, all the while wishing she could hit something, particularly herself. Eventually, everyone ran out of words and the council members began to file out until only Arya and her betrothed remained. No sooner did the door close behind Connington than she rushed to embrace Aegon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Arya said into Aegon’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt his warm arms wrap around her as he pressed a kiss into her hair. It felt so good to be held by him like this. This was the most alone they had been since they had enjoyed each other in the godswood in Winterfell. As soon as they left the small council chamber, their guards would surround them once more and she would soon have her ladies all about her again. The thought made her cling to him all the harder. Most like, they wouldn’t be alone again until the night of the wedding with all their friends, family, and vassals outside the door, urging them on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is naught to be sorry for,” he insisted, stroking circles over the small of her back. “You will come to see that nearly every small council meeting has its disagreements and pettiness. We were tame today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya lifted her head to look at him, her chin on his chest. “But the Kingsguard-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is a topic they haven’t stopped arguing about since Ser Barristan grew ill. This is not an argument you began. If anything, allowing the tourney to settle it will bring an end to the matter without any room for further complaint. All will be well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed him tighter and chewed her lip, wanting to believe she hadn’t ruined both Brienne and Bran’s chances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love when you do that,” he said, returning the squeeze. “Bite your lip. It’s fetching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Arya stopped. Her mother and both septas had explained how disgusting that habit was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a laugh and a bow of his head, Aegon pressed his lips lightly against hers. As he drew back, she followed, rising on the tips of her slippers, allowing no space to grow between them. Her left hand found its way into his silvery hair and cupped the back of his head, holding him to her. At the slightest prompting from his tongue, Arya’s mouth opened and the king swept in deepening the kiss. Even when their lips broke apart, Arya continued pressing open mouth kisses over his face and down his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is...” Aegon began. She felt the muscles in his neck constrict under her mouth. “... the last place I ever thought we might… do this again.” Yet, she felt his hands grasping at her skirts. “Are you certain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s mouth reclaimed his once more and he didn’t ask any more stupid questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If their guards wondered why they had remained in the small council chamber so long after the others had left, they gave no sign. They simply formed up around them as they went their separate ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Arya expected, they would not be alone again until their wedding night. The few times when Arya attempted to reach out to Aegon, she heard that he was shut away with Rhaenys and Dany. It seemed they had secret, yet urgent concerns to discuss, which even Robb wouldn’t share with her. The next few days were filled with numerous tasks and refittings. Arya even found time to pay a visit to the Street of Loombs with El and give that shop she recommended her patronage. Humorously, Mother and Dany took her to the queen's apartments to discuss what would be expected of her as a new bride which included spilling a vial of blood on her sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She managed to catch a few minutes alone with Bran when she ran into him leaving the godswood. Leading him to an alcove she tried to tell him of the melee, but news traveled quickly through the Red Keep and he already knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reach out to Brienne,” Arya said. “If you make an alliance now, you can both reach the end of the melee together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Bran only laughed. “Why would I want an alliance with her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya could have smacked him. “Because she’s a great fighter, stupid. Don’t you want to win?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t hope to win if I cling to some woman’s skirts the whole time,” he insisted. “Not even a woman like Brienne. The queen dowager’s favor won’t help her on the field.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Arya did shove his chest, though he seemed to barely feel it. “She won’t be wearing skirts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran grasped her shoulders, looking about them. Arya followed his gaze. They were mostly alone, though some of her ladies waited within sight, actively not looking at them while a few servants and a page rushed by in different directions. She was thankful Bethany wasn’t among the ladies with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not very queenly,” Bran chided with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Queen’s can smack their brothers if they’re being stupid,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t ally with her,” he pressed, releasing Arya’s shoulders. “I already have allies for the melee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran looked away from her and shuffled. “William Royce, Harrold Hardyng, Allard Waynwood, Bryan Fossoway, and a few Freys. We were all in the yard together when the news reached us and one of the Freys -- I think it was one of the Walders -- suggested we all come to an accord. I couldn’t simply say no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you could have,” Arya said, shaking her head. “You think you stand a better chance at making it to the end with them than Brienne? You said Harrold Hardyng only won at tourney when better knights let him. Do you mean to let him too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Bran insisted. “I-” He raked a hand through his red hair. “We had all been having a good laugh together when the news came. It only seemed… natural to agree. There’s naught to be done about it now. The weakest from each alliance will fall on the first day anyhow. If Brienne is as skilled as you say, she will make it to the second day without my help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya could have shoved him again. Instead, she said, “But will </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>make it to the second day without </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she rushed off to the godswood, not giving him room to reply, her ladies following at her heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Red Keep’s godswood stood half the size of Winterfell’s at only one acre. The pack of six direwolves were cramped and restless in the confined space, howling if they hadn’t received a visit in longer than a few hours. Without ever agreeing to it, the Stark siblings, along with Jon and Alarra, had made certain to visit at least once a day. Even Mother came fairly often, feeling more welcome in this godswood than in the one at home. Mayhaps because in place of a weirwood, the heart tree here was a great, sprawling oak covered in smokeberry vines with a carpet of red dragon's breath flowers around the roots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya raced through the trees, the skirts of her simple Northern dress gathered up in her hands, Nymeria nipping at her heels. The direwolf could outpace her with ease yet she loved to play too. The whole pack did. So every so often, the other wolves would leap out of the foliage to cut her off. The exercise helped free her mind from how annoyed she was with her little brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As soon as I move to my rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast, I will bring you there too,” Arya promised Nymeria as they laid in the grass, heart racing with exhilaration. “I know how you all hate being trapped in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even when most of her family sailed for home with their respective direwolves, that would leave Nymeria, Summer, and Shaggy here. This acre of land would still be too cramped for them. Surly, with only three wolves left and the city back to its normal capacity there would be no complaint with them returning to their owners’ sides so long as they introduced them gradually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As always, Nymeria and Shaggy tried to make their escape when Arya departed, but she and the guards held them at bay while they secured the gate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much longer,” Arya promised, stroking Nymeria’s grey fur through the bars. “I’m to marry on the morrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the day of the wedding finally arrived the women of her family broke their fasts together, with most of Arya’s ladies about them, and made it through most of the morning’s preparations. Arya was completely ready save for the dress itself, which she wouldn’t subject herself to until they were almost ready to walk out the door, Everyone was in high spirits. Almost everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amongst all the excitement and bustle, Aunt Lysa silently, and sometimes not so silently, fumed. She scoffed every so often at their merriment or said things that were outright rude, particularly to Bess Bracken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” Arya demanded after one too many barbed comments. “What are you so angry about? Shut up or get out. You’re ruining my wedding day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt Lysa snorted derisively. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin precious Cat’s precious daughter’s wedding day. Not even if she schemed to push that cow-” she openly pointed at Bess, who stared straight ahead, annoyance clear on her face “- on my son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one is forcing anyone on Robert,” Arya insisted. “If he doesn’t want to marry Bess, I can find her an even better match.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a lie. Though she could find her a good match, Lords Paramount were in short supply. Still, the proclamation was enough to send Aunt Lysa storming from the room, mouth twisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until a little while later that she learned the cause for her aunt’s anger when Mother maneuvered it so she and Arya were some distance from the others, admiring the view from the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From what I understand, Robert is very taken with Bess and wishes very much to make the match,” Mother said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, Arya understood. “And Aunt Lysa isn’t pleased that her son is finally ready to be weaned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya…” Mother gave her a warning nudge, though she couldn’t conceal her smile</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or she’s angry that he prefers Bess’ teets to hers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mother couldn’t help but laugh even as she chided her. “What am I to do with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, a page arrived to tell them it was nearly time to depart. So she had put off stepping into her wedding dress long enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No sooner had the king departed Winterfell, than seamstresses from White Harbor had been sent for to make the gown and the rest of her new wardrobe. With her wedding dress, they had created a confection of silk and Myrish lace garnished with seed pearls in the design of wolves. As beautiful as Arya admitted the gown looked when they brought the stupid thing out, it wasn’t worth the painful way it cinched at the waist, making it hard to breathe and impossible to bend. The only thing that made stepping into it and holding her breath as it was secured at all bearable was the knowledge that the seamstresses at the shop El took her to were already at work on far more comfortable garments for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next came the heavy bride cloak, a long white velvet cloak trimmed with grey fur, despite the spring season, and speckled with pearls. A wolf howled along the garment in silver thread. Mother secured the cloak to Arya’s throat with a chain linking two wolf heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, there was naught to do but ride for Baelor’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father, Jon, and her brothers waited for them in the castle yard alongside a number of their most powerful vassals. It seemed the royal family was already on their way to the Great Sept if the cheering that grew more and more distant were anything to go by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we late?” Arya asked, quickening her pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t be late,” Rickon said. “Nothing can start without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, but we had best not tarry,” Father said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s beautiful sand steed was saddled and ready beside a waiting groom. She still hadn’t given her a name as yet. Nymeria’s name came to her instantly. Not a single one of the ideas she had come up with had suited the horse. Most recently, she considered smoke on account of the sand steed’s smoky, mottled grey. But that didn’t do her justice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My thanks, Emrick, Wylla,” Arya said, as the groom helped her mount, and her mistress of the robe assisted with adjusting her skirts and cloak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they were all saddled up or in litters, they set out. This time, most of their party led the way while Arya, Father, and their guards took up the rear. She was ready for the sea of faces as the whole of King’s Landing seemed to have lined the streets leading from Aegon’s High Hill to Baelor’s on the Hill of Visenya. They cheered her all the way to the sept and she hoped that begging brother could hear the deafening roar in Cobbler’s square.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father clutched her arm as they made their way up the steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya turned to him, questioningly. “Father? What is it? We will be late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his solemn gaze on her. “Are you ready, sweet one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she said and tugged him onward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya had no notion how much this moment was striking at the very heart of him until they reached Aegon within the sept. The king stood between the statues of the Father and the Mother. Just behind him stood the High Septon and Viserys, who held the black and red bride cloak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well met,” the king whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya grinned at him in answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceremony went by in a blur of seven vows, seven blessings, seven promises, one wedding song, and an unanswered challenge. Next came the exchange of cloaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One look at Father and her heart nearly stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all Arya’s years, she could never recall her father crying. She had seen Lord Eddard solemn after taking the head of a criminal, joyful when his first granddaughter was placed in his arms, furious at the news of Ramsay Snow’s crimes, and gracious whenever she brought him flowers. But not until this moment as he removed her white and grey maiden cloak had Arya seen tears wet his face. She bit her lip as tears pricked her own eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father handed the cloak off and pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. She leaned into the gesture until he stepped back and took his place beside Mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears still stung Arya’s eyes as Aegon moved forward to wrap her in the black and red bride cloak and secured the cloak at her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon opened his mouth as though to speak, but hesitated, searching her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see me crying like a baby, she realized. Now he thinks...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"With this kiss I pledge my love," Arya said firmly. She smiled as a tear trailed down her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Visibly relieved, he echoed those words and drew her against him for their first kiss as husband and wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here in the sight of gods and men," the high septon proclaimed. "I do solemnly proclaim Aegon of House Targaryen and Arya of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally, that would be the end of a wedding ceremony done in the light of the Seven. But as the wedding of the king, a few more steps were required. The High Septon anointed Arya with the seven oils, while doing some stupid chant about her fidelity, purity, and goodness. Then a scowling Viserys held up the velvet cushion that her crown rested on. The crown was a slimmer version of Aegon’s own, a band of gold adorned with seven gemstones of different colors. When Elia and Rhaella first showed it to her a few days past, they explained that the crown had been made for Good Queen Alysanne, just as Aegon’s was made to look like Jaehaerys I’s lost crown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We hope to style Aegon’s reign after the best of his forefathers,” Rhaella had explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king lifted the crown and gently rested the band atop Arya’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, it was done. All that remained were congratulations and celebration. The lords and ladies present lined up to provide the former and the commons showered congratulations on them all the way back to the Red Keep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father cried,” Arya said abruptly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were dressed for the feast and mounted upon their sand steeds, ready for their entrance into the Great Hall. For the first time since the council chamber, they were mostly alone with only a pair of guards standing ready to open the doors for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You cried as well,” he noted. “Happy tears, I hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cry all the time,” she insisted, somehow not feeling the shame of that for once. “But not </span>
  <em>
    <span>Father</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I have never seen him cry. Not ever. I’m sorry, I’m crying </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya ruthlessly rubbed at her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, there is naught to apologize for,” he insisted, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Witnessing a parent cry, makes you realize they are just as human and fallible as you. It’s disconcerting.” She looked over to see his face twist uncomfortably as he gazed down at the black horse’s neck. “Mother wept for the first time I had seen a week after Rhaenys wed. It was the day she departed for Highgarden. Mother cried from the castle walls as she watched Rhaenys ride away. It felt strange comforting </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>for once.” He met her gaze and smiled once more. “Lord Eddard is pained to lose you. He loves you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya nodded, sniffling. “I’m going to miss him. So much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feast did much to cheer her. The direwolf of Stark and the three-headed dragon of Targaryen shared prominence upon the banners that adorned the Great Hall. Every face they passed riding through the hall carried a smile. By the second course and an unknown amount of wine from all the toasts, Arya forgot she had ever cried. She spent the evening laughing and applauding and dancing as a succession of mummer skits and singers entertained them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song Aegon wrote with Alaric of Eysen, ‘The Wolf Snared the Dragon,’ pleased everyone and only in part because the king was one of the authors. It was funny and sweet and had the room cheering louder than any of Alaric’s other performances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the songs seemed specifically chosen to curry favor with the bride and groom or their families. ‘The Princess and the Queen’ and ‘The Sun that Set on the Lion’ were clearly meant to honor Elia and Rhaella. ‘The Song of the Seven’ and ‘Seven Swords for Seven Sons’ made appearances to prove their piety. Talia sang ‘The Winter Maid’ while playing the harp as deftly as she strung her bow. ‘The Night That Ended’ and ‘Wolves in the Hills’ were for the Northmen. Though many of them shouted for ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’ and ‘Bessa the Barmaid’ to be sung regularly and even began singing one or the other every so often, regardless of what tune was playing. To honor Arya and Aegon, ‘Two Hearts That Beat as One,’ ‘My Lady Wife,’ and ‘The Vow Unspoken’ were heard regularly that evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All throughout, Arya danced, shouted, japed, and -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>mostly--</span>
  </em>
  <span> enjoyed one of the best nights of her life. Mostly because a few of her dance partners saw fit to dampen her mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya led the dancing with Aegon. After a few twirls around the Great Hall, she took to the floor with her father and then Jon. When Edric Baratheon requested the honor of her next dance, Arya was both pleased and wary. When she wrote to them of her upcoming marriage a year past, their responses had taken far longer than usual and lacked their typical familiarity. Arya knew the likely reason for their coolness. She had promised to wed Edric once he was Lord of Storm’s End in his own right. But that had -- mostly -- been a jape. Once Caassana joined her ladies-in-waiting, the familiarity they had was gone. That made Arya sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if Edric was reaching out...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a parting grin to Jon, Arya rejoined the dancing with Edric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations are in order,” he said. “You make a beautiful bride, Your Grace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The polite formality from yet another friend was a blade to the gut, but Arya knew her lines as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are too kind,” she recited in the same tone she might wield to call him an ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That done, Edric continued through the motions, staring beyond her. Arya bit her lip and looked about the room. Her gaze fell upon her partner’s mother, Janna Tyrell Baratheon, just in time to see her look away and throw herself into conversation with Merry Crane. Arya’s mind leapt to the obvious conclusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You needn’t dance with me if you don’t want to,” she blurted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya would have rushed off back to her seat on the dias, but Edric held her fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Your Gr- Arya.” Edric drew in a breath, the muscle of his jaw clenching. Clearly, the shrewd politeness of his mother and the temper of his father warred within him. “I do wish to dance with you. Very much. Too much. You promised to marry me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was japing,” Arya insisted. “You know I was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mostly japing. Or partly japing. She would have liked being wed to Edric and living in the Stormlands… so long as she never had to see his father. Lord Baratheon had remained in Storm’s End while his wife and children made his excuses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, you still aren’t lord in your own right,” she said. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>japed</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I wouldn’t marry you until you were.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thanked the Tyrell discretion that had him biting back whatever rebuttal he had opened his mouth to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is why Cassana is angry with me, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edric’s blue eyes brightened at that. “Oh, Cass had wished to have you as a sister, but she had wished to be queen even more. Neither is like to happen now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For true?” Arya exclaimed. “She never mentioned Aegon in any of her letters. She doesn’t still love him, does she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t a complication she had considered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she never did,” Edric assured her. “She was too young to pay His Grace much attention when he was on progress through the Stormlands.” He shook his head. “We know well that love and marriage needn’t coincide. But Cass wished to be queen. If it weren’t for Father’s refusal, she would be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya’s mind instantly went to Bess Bracken and her wish to reach the height of Lady of the Vale without marrying Robert. It wasn’t fair that women could only gain positions through marriage…. Other than Brienne who would have to fight for her position thanks to Arya.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinctively, she glanced beyond her partner to look for Brienne. Arya had only seen the tall woman from a distance since arriving in King’s Landing aside from briefly receiving congratulations from her at Baelor’s. Lady Brienne had her duty to the queen dowager and Arya had much to keep her occupied. Her gaze found her standing with Oberyn, Clement Celtigar, Derrek Darry, and a Whent she wasn’t acquainted with. Arya planned to make a point of talking with her that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t take it to heart,” Edric said, reclaiming her attention. “Cass will recover from her disappointment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I wasn’t worried about that,” Arya said. “I…” She faltered, struggling to find the words to explain how limited the choices were for women. How their lot in life was dependent on first who their father was and then on who they could manage to marry. That an ambition they might have for themselves would almost always require connecting themselves to the right man to achieve it. But then, looking into his blue eyes, she knew he wouldn’t understand. He was a good man, but it would be like trying to explain that to Bran or Robb or Rickon. Jon might come the closest to understanding, but even then… “I like Cassana. You know I do. We’ll get on. Look over there, my cousin is courting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya noticed that Robert Arryn was often at Bess’ side through the evening. Though they weren’t seated together, he had pried himself from his mother’s side to dance with her or unseat her neighbor to sit beside her. They made an unusual sight, as Bess was taller and hardier than Robert, whose delicate health made him appear a few years younger than he was. But as they spoke animatedly, they appeared content with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope Bess likes his attentions,” Arya said. “With him attached to her, no one else is like to ask her to dance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edric raised his eyebrows at that. “I would say she should be well pleased by his attentions. He’s the Lord of the Vale, for all his frailty. If not, he would make an excellent match for Cass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ought to tell Cassana. I would love to see her slap you for even thinking that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earned her a booming laugh from her partner, just in time for the song to end. Another Edric took his place. Edric Dayne was shy and polite, but the dance was too fast and required twirling with different partners so often that she didn’t learn much about him beyond that. Arya would have sought out Brienne after that, but Uncle Edmure claimed her hand for the next song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What say the king of the council seat?” he asked straight away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya bit her lip. “The other council members were angry that I was trying to help Bran get on the Kingsguard. Stephen Darry complained that I would try to put someone else on the council too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course he did,” Edmure grumbled. “He knows I am the most likely choice if you do have your way. He forgets that I am his liege lord no matter what side of the Rebellion my father was on. What does the king say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya smiled at that. “He said I have as much right to suggest a candidate for the council as anyone. But Tyrion wants a seat as well. I don’t know that I can get one of you on the council, let alone both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean to put the imp above me?” he sputtered. “Your own uncle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she insisted. “I don’t choose who sits on the council. Aegon does. He might agree with Connington’s choice or whoever Darry favors or the candidate his mother suggests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But unlike them, you will stand closest to the king,” Edmure insisted. “Now more than any other time in your lives. You could surely use your influence to benefit our family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tyrion told me the same thing,” Arya shot back and started walking away before the last cords of the song played.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She began to rush straight to Brienne only for Aegon to urge her back to their seats for another mummer skit, followed by more toasts and more wine than she could keep track of. Then the queen was back to dancing from partner to partner, never having a chance to seek the other woman out. Even Tyrion asked to partner her so he could corner Arya about that council seat. She could only give the same answers she gave Uncle Edmure. But she prayed neither would get it, for all the trouble they were giving her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the final songs of the night were performed by Bethany Fair-fingers, a renowned traveling singer who had entertained commons and nobles alike in each corner of Westeros. She regaled them with a new song she had composed for the wedding, ‘Spring Snows.’ Though her most cheered performances were for old favorites.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My best wishes of luck and joy to you with your spring maid, Your Grace,” Bethany Fair-fingers said, after her performance of ‘The Season’s of My Love.’ “May you live through many long and happy springs and summers, and very short autumns and winters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giddy from drink, Arya grinned at Aegon, who took her hand and brought it to his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Viserys abruptly stood up from down the table, swaying from drink. “Enough of these mummers! It’s time for a real show. The she-wolf must be shorn! Bed them! Bed them! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bed them!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the cries of “Bed them!” spread through the Great Hall like an infection, Arya rose from her seat. Instantly, the room began to rock, forcing her to lean against the table for support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sheep are shorn, stupid,” she called down to him. “Not wolves.” She turned to the room at large. “But he’s right.” She slammed a fist on the table. “It’s time we were bedded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To the tune of “Her Little Flower”, the hooting guests swarmed over her and Aegon, pulling them from their seats and shouting lewd jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t enjoy this too much!” Arya called back to Aegon, as Harry Hardyng removed the black cloak from her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “No fear on that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was grateful for all the wine she downed through the night. The substance practically turned her to liquid as well. Being released from the stiff gown was a relief, as was being swept up into Trystane Martell’s arms since all that dancing had left her feet aching. She was even able to snap back at traditional bawdy jokes with even bawdier jokes of her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is until she noticed her father remaining close beside her, face as hard and dangerous as his Valyrian steel sword, Ice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then, all of her undergarments were discarded save the white smallclothes trimmed with lace that covered her chest and legs down to her knees. When one of the Walder Freys made to grab at them, Arya reflexively kicked him. No amount of wine would allow her to be undressed in front of her father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Father said in a tone that sent a chill through the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an instant, Arya was wrapping her arm around her father’s neck and he carried her over the bridge to Maegor’s Holdfast. Then it was up the winding turnpike stairs and into the queen’s chambers and finally tucked into bed. She only had to wait a few minutes until Aegon came striding in, led by the ladies of court. Arya sat up in the bed to see if they had managed to fully undress him, but Father pressed her shoulder down and tucked the blanket in up to her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Aegon was beside her, swatting away the hands of his pursuers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Each of you has had your fun, I hope,” Aegon shouted above the din. “Now out with you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father gave Arya a brief nod before departing and a surge of embarrassment twisted inside her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s seen us! </span>
  </em>
  <span>her mind flared irrationally. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s seen us! He knows! </span>
  </em>
  <span>In a stream of ribald jokes, their other guests complied, the shutting of the door muffling their voices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello again, my love,” Aegon said, sitting up and pushing down their blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t!” Arya cried, laughing and covering herself up to her eyes with the blanket. “I can’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve done this more than once before,” Aegon whispered, though he made no further attempt to uncover her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father wasn’t outside the door before,” she insisted. “He </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw </span>
  </em>
  <span>us! He saw us abed together! They all did! I can’t fuck you with them right outside! Why am I laughing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The absurdity of it all blended with the wine inside her stomach, making her cackle like a madwoman. But it was infectious for Aegon was soon laughing too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s our guests outside the door that troubles you, I can set that to rights.” He leapt from the bed and strode toward a tapestry, that intricately depicted some battle, near the far corner of the bedchamber. He pulled the cloth aside to reveal a door. “Come. We can continue in my rooms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya scrambled to her feet, only to fall back onto the bed as the room swayed around her. But then Aegon was lifting her up again and she pressed her face into his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the third man to carry me tonight,” she noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the last,” Aegon proclaimed, hurrying them up the winding stair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon the morrow, Arya woke, stretching and jolted to find her husband still asleep beside her. Internally, she chided herself for being stupid. Of course, he was beside her. Though Arya wondered how long it would take before she grew used to waking up with him rather than one of her female companions. Hugging her knees, she watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way the muscles shifted under the golden skin. He was so beautiful, one could lose a whole day looking at him. But Arya was not that one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment after the thought slipped through her mind, the young queen sprung up and dashed to the privy. All the water they drank once reaching his rooms had been the cause of her waking so early. Once finished, she took the opportunity to explore the king’s chambers. Along with an examination of the weapons that decorated a wall in the solar, she looked over his sets of tiles, dice, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>cyvasse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She ran her fingers over the strings of the plain, but large harp that stood beside one of the hearths in the bedchamber. Across the room, another the second hearth mirrored the first, but beside it stood a marble plinth that held a...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is this?” Arya blurted, rushing forward to grasp a large egg that rested on a pillow. It was heavy with swirls of orange and red so vibrant the egg might have been encrusted with jewels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arya?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced back at the canopied bed to find a drowsy Aegon sitting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me you had a dragon’s egg?” she asked, rushing over to him on bare feet. “It’s beautiful! Will it hatch, do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon grasped her about the waist and drew her close as he laid them both on their sides, facing each other with the egg between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant to tell you once Rhaenys, Dany, and I decided what to do,” he explained, lightly running his knuckles over her arm. “Dany found this and two others in the crypts of Winterfell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For true?” she asked. “Old Nan always said Winterfell was heated by a dragon. I stopped believing it was true years ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon grinned at that. “Dany said the same, though they must have been laid by Vermax when she visited Winterfell with Prince Jacaerys during the Dance. We can’t decide whether or not to make this discovery known or wait to see if they might hatch. Either way, this is a very good omen for both unions between our families.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” She caught and kissed his hand as it brushed over her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s as if the gods intended for us to unite this way and make good on Jacaerys’ pact of ice and fire. They are bringing us back to our former glory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya might have wondered at the gods sending them direwolves just as they led Dany to the discovery of dragon eggs, but Aegon drew her closer and all she could think about was his body against hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Aegon promised, the tournament began with the king knighting Brienne with much pomp, ceremony, and grumbling from the stands. Arya made a point of standing beside the king as he charged the Maid of Tarth to be brave in the name of the Warrior, just in the name of the Father, a defender of the young and innocent in the name of the Mother, a protector to women in the name of the Maid, to be diligent in the name of the Smith, to be wise in the name of the Crone, and to die before breaking her oaths in the name of the Stranger. The tall woman knelt, visibly overwhelmed and on the verge of tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Brienne, do you swear to devote your life henceforth to these oaths?” Aegon asked, tapping her shoulder a final time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, Your Grace,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arise, Ser Brienne, sworn shield of the queen dowager and knight of Tarth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cheers that followed weren’t as exuberant as they ought to have been. Arya glared at the viewing stands, but had a smile for Brienne as she moved forward to hug her. The other woman gasped in shock, so Arya moved away quickly, but made certain to give her sincerest congratulations very loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The seven days of tourney that followed the wedding saw the melee competition garnering far more attention than the jousts as most men, aside from lords and their direct heirs, were to compete. But that only meant that only the most seasoned challengers braved the lists, as the others wished to keep their strength in reserve for melee. That resulted in longer and more evenly balanced matches, each more exciting than the last. All throughout, Aegon shouted out his approval or dismay at some of the rounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now, Monford!” the king cried, clenching a fist. “He’s right there! Yes! There! Good man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you bet on him?” Arya asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon shook his head. “Forgive me. It’s infuriating to be forced to remain on the sidelines where all I can do is watch. Once our son comes and we have an heir above Viserys, there will be no further need for precaution.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya glared at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My love? Is something amiss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing more than usual, but to hear him bemoan a temporary restriction that would nearly always be frowned upon for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When our son comes, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>and I </span>
  </em>
  <span>will be free to brave the lists?” Arya demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you wished to be a tourney champion. I thought you didn’t want to be a knight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, knighthood had never consumed her dreams as it had with Bran. What Arya had always ached for were choices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At her silence, Aegon continued. “Mayhaps, after our son is born, we might happen across a few of those smaller tourneys lordlings are always holding. We might enter as mystery knights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might we?” Arya exclaimed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We might. Though now that I think on it, we might want to wait until we have three or four sons. The lists can be dangerous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to prove his words, the next round left Ser Danold Turnberry with a splintered lance through the eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, the challengers whittled down to two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a match that lasted for nine tilts, Edric Baratheon finally unhorsed Elia Sand, sending Lady Lance to the ground with a thud and a chorus of groans and cheers from the stands. When she didn’t rise straight away, Edric was proclaimed the winner of the match and the jousting champion. In a show of practiced gallantry, he laid the wreath of white and red roses in Arya’s lap, naming her the queen of love and beauty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before attending the day’s feast, Arya and Aegon checked on El in the tent of one of the maesters. Both of her parents already stood beside her cot as the maester listed off the number of bruises but proclaimed her to be without permanent injury on the whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon grinned down at her “You rode well, cousin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” El agreed, happily. “I never ranked so high before. I nearly won.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did win,” Arya insisted. “Twenty thousand dragons!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second best is not what she strives for, I’m thinking,” Oberyn insisted</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the jousts were primarily filled with skilled contenders and notable matches, the melee began the next day with much trimming of fat. It seemed every young man with a bit of arms training decided to try their luck. As such, the first day ended with a tally of eight people dead, nineteen in danger of succumbing to their wounds, twenty-three broken limbs, and countless minor injuries. And that was with all challengers wielding blunted weapons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya was happy to see that Brienne was part of a clear alliance, though one of the men who fought beside her raised more than a few eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your uncle means to join the Kingsguard?” Arya blurted the question out even as she realized what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne’s allies seemed to be Trystane Martell, Clement Celtigar, Derrek Darry, Aegon Whent, Daemon Sand, and the Red Viper himself, Oberyn Martell. Skilled fighters of great repute all. Most of them very well might seek a place on the Kingsguard, but Oberyn likely wasn’t one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or he’s competing to help someone else gain the white cloak,” Arya concluded, annoyed that neither she or Bran seemed to have thought of that before. If he had Robb, Jon, and a few Northmen about him, he would last to the very end for a certainty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon seemed annoyed as well. “It would serve him right if he came out the victor and had to spend the rest of his life celibate or gelded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The following days saw fewer casualties and serious injuries as the competitors were culled down to the warriors who knew what they were about, when to concede defeat and how to incapacitate without doing severe damage. As such, each day’s rounds grew less bloody but more thrilling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the sixth morning of the tourney, which happened to be the fourth of the melee, the small council held an early meeting to assess the progress made and the toll taken from the wedding and tourney thus far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The inns are full to bursting,” Princess Elia reported, sifting through papers on the table before her. “The merchants, bakers, butchers, and craftsmen are making a fine trade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So fine a trade, most no longer mourn the share the Iron Throne claims,” Oberyn noted. “Most.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This coin will go a long way toward replenishing the cost of this wedding and tournament,” she continued. “Not all of it. But we never expected these taxes and tolls to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The treasury is well-stocked enough to suffer the loss,” Stephen Darry said. “What of the mood of the lords and commons? Are they well pleased with this union?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I have learned from the commons say they are,” Oberyn confirmed. “Few listen to the begging brother other than to shout him down. The lords? When are lords ever truly pleased?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, we are all well pleased,” Jon Connington said, looking as though he had never been pleased in his life. “But the true matter at hand is the choice of our new master-of-coin. The princess cannot continue to hold that office indefinitely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your concern, my lord Hand.” Elia smiled sweetly. “But you’ll find that I can in fact hold this office as long as needs be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya hadn’t thought it possible, but the scowl that seemed Connington’s fixed expression deepened even further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see why she can’t be master-of-coin in truth,” Arya blurted. “She is already acting in the position right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprise flitted across the princess’ face as she regarded Arya.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would have thought you eager to put your uncle or one of your father’s bannermen forward,” Connington said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fighting the urge to say something that would embarrass Aegon was nearly impossible. She bit her lip and drew a breath through her nose, thinking of a response. Only the length of one breath brought the perfect response to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for bringing my uncle’s name forward,” she said stiffly. “He says he would love to serve on the king’s council. He need not be master-of-coin. A seat on the council is enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephen Darry was quick to point out that they had sufficient representation from the Riverlands on the council with him there and pointed out that they ought to choose from another region. A flurry of names were put forward from each council member for men who hailed from every corner of Westeros, save the North and the Iron Islands. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most like they think I’m more than enough representation for my region,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Arya’s surprise, Elia suggested asking Tyrion to take up the position. “Even as a boy, he was clever and had an excellent head for figures.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s said he made the Westerlands more prosperous than he found them,” Arya added, reciting her sister’s letter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Lannister on the council?” Grand Maester Vorian visibly cringed. “Can we trust one such as him? Another Reachman to replace Garth may answer our needs best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several more names were suggested with great virtues praised and faults detailed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will take all these men into consideration,” Aegon said, just as the debates threatened to grow heated. He gestured to a page who hurried forward with two scrolls. “I sent each of you copies of letters from Lord Stark and his brother, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch detailing their plans to settle new lords on the New Gift. These lords will owe fealty to both Winterfell and the Wall, but their taxes and a portion of their crops will go toward the support of the Night’s Watch. What say you all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This topic seemed to bore the council just as much as the last had them riveted. None had anything to refute or approve. The complete lack of interest in her region was something of a shock for Arya. Especially their disregard for the well-being of the Watch and the Wall. While the southern regions always seemed separate from the North, she had thought they were all unique worlds unto themselves, united by the Iron Throne. If the council was anything to go by, only seven of the nine regions truly mattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya considered speaking in favor of her father’s plans, but she had already voiced her support in private and no one seemed to care enough to give opposition anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surely we will all support what you think best, Your Grace,” Vorian said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Stark’s plans are sound,” Aegon announced. “I will leave the choice of these new lords to him. But for now, we must needs return to the tourney fields.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the matter of the council seat-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon stood and the council hurried to follow suit. “I will take that choice under consideration.” He held out his arm for Arya to take and they made their way back to the city of tents that had sprung up alongside the river.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you going to regale me with the virtues of your preferred choice?” Aegon asked as they rode through the city, a Kingsguard knight on either side of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya shrugged. “I don’t know enough about any of them to say. Who are you thinking of?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The king raised his eyebrows at that before visibly considering. “I grew up with Tyrion, just as I did your brother, Robb. He was always clever, always ambitious, and always excelled at his lessons. You had the right of it about the Westerlands. Despite the lands we stripped away after his father rebelled, once he came to his majority and we trusted him to take charge of what remained of the region, he brought the West back to prosperity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya fought back a grimace. “You’ve decided on Tyrion, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayhaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day’s melee saw many of the combatants distinguish themselves and rise to become favorites amongst the ecstatic crowd. Arya was pleased to see her brother in particular distinguishing himself and being commended by onlookers. The commons shouted out their approval, crying, “Red Wolf! Red Wolf! Red Wolf!” at each of  Bran’s victories. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, standing just behind the young queen, his betrothed was a jumble of mixed emotions. If she hadn’t felt so sympathy for her lady-in-waiting’s situation, Arya might have been amused by Bethany’s shifts between pride at Bran’s success in the successive rounds of melee and her fearfulness that he might win.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should Bran win, I will help find you a much better match,” Arya said. She had already wondered about Gawen Glover or Harrion Karstark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>a better match,” she insisted. “I want Ser Brandon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya couldn’t help wrinkling her nose at someone being so smitten with her little brother, but she said no more about it. Mother hadn’t been well pleased by his participation in the melee rather than the jousting either. They seemed to have quarreled over the choice, but neither said anything about it to Arya even when she inquired. Bran always changed the subject while Mother said there was naught to be done about it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, her brother’s cheerful disposition only grew as each day passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are they calling you the Red Wolf?” Arya asked Bran that night at the feast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my hair,” he said. “It started in the Vale. The Valemen must have spread it here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed. “That’s stupid. Don’t they know I’m the only one of us who doesn’t have red hair? They might as well call Robb, Rickon, and Sansa red wolves too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bran winked. “Upon the morrow, I will be a white wolf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fifth day of the melee broke with a lovely and troubling sunshower. The melee grounds looked slippery and the sun flared brightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of the more than three hundred and fifty contestants, only twenty-three remained. Of Bran’s alliance, he, Allard Waynwood, Elmar Frey, and one of the Walder’s remained while Brienne’s alliance still boasted the Red Viper, Daemon Sand, Derrek Darry, and Clement Celtigar. For the millionth time, Arya wished Bran had reached out to Brienne for an alliance so that when all the competitors officially fought only for themselves, the fight would come down to the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This will be the last day, then,” Arya said as the clash of steel began in front of the royal viewing stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Aegon agreed. “This has been a fine tourney.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had. Even beyond the competitions, Arya had enjoyed the feasting every night and the entertainments and slipping between the merchant booths to talk to the people. But these five days of melee had grown repetitive. Were Bran not among the competitors, she might have wandered off partway through each day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only a few minutes in and Bran had already forced Terrance Hetherspoon to yield. Now he turned to Donnel Sloane and his Fossoway partner. Though they kept him busy, Arya knew that Uncle Brynden had taught Bran to fight multiple men at once since battle was very rarely one against one. While he held both men at bay, Arya noticed something strange with the ally who fought closest to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya bolted to her feet. “Bran!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t hear her. All of the young knight’s focus remained on the two opponents before him, oblivious to the threat from the ally at his back. Walder Frey had left Ronald Storm lying unconscious in the mud and turned his momentum onto his own teammate. Had the mace Walder swung not been blunted, the direct impact might have shattered through the armor and crushed through Bran’s leg. As it was, Arya watched in horror as Walder struck Bran’s armored knee so hard he came tumbling down into the slick mud. Frey raised his weapon again as if to finish him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You leave him alone!” Arya screamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was too far away to hear. But it made no matter. A sword intercepted Walder’s mace. It was Brienne! She forced the man to give ground as Bran struggled to roll onto his back. Every other competitor gave him a wide berth as well. Striking someone while they were already down in a melee wasn’t only unchivalrous, but pointless as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Arya made it to the side of the field where Robb and Jon had pulled Bran out of the fray, Mother and Father were there as well. A maester was on hand too, giving his assistants orders to gently remove Bran’s armor so he might examine the damage before determining how best to move him. Heart pounding in her ears, she looked about for how she might help, only to see there was nothing she could do. Arya looked on, practically biting a hole into her bottom lip, aching with uselessness. Absently, she heard sounds of the melee continuing nearby as if naught were amiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strong arms drew Arya against a now familiar form and she turned to allow herself to be molded into Aegon’s comforting warmth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The gods were with you, Ser Brandon,” Maester Geribal said an hour later after they had managed to bring Bran to the maester’s tent where he examined and treated the injury to his knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they were, I would still be on the field,” Bran said, face pinched in pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bran</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mother said tightly. “I would hear him. Forgive us, maester.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From her place near the back of the tent, Arya noticed that her mother’s grip tightened on his hand. Her eyes red and buffy, it was clear she was scarcely able to keep herself composed. Bethany had joined them as well, clutching Bran’s other hand and holding it near as tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your leg will heal clean,” the maester continued. “More than I can say for most of your fellows whose limbs required severing. So long as you make no attempt to put weight on this knee, you will retain the use of your leg. But there will be no moving about until I give you leave and certainly no more of this needlessly getting yourself bashed about, treating war like a game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horror overtook Bran’s face. “I’ll never ride in tourney again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I had my way, such foolishness would be forbidden to all,” the maester said. “Alas, only the king can outlaw tourneys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t,” Arya assured her brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aegon had returned to the melee. Arya ought to have done the same to honor those still competing in celebration of her marriage, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave Bran yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be champion of the next tourney the king holds,” Bethany assured him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile Bran gave her looked forced to Arya, but she was relieved that he was at least trying to be kind to his betrothed. It seemed there would be no avoiding the marriage now, unless one of Aegon’s current Seven died before then. Considering how young they were, that wasn’t likely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tournament ended very similarly to how it began with Brienne kneeling before the king and queen in the royal viewing stand. With solemn dignity, the Maid of Tarth recited the vows that would make her the first woman to not only hold the title of knight but serve in the Kingsguard. Arya struggled to keep the smile on her face throughout so Brienne would know how glad she was for her, even if her mind did wander back to Bran. This time when Arya embraced her, Brienne returned the gesture. The young queen took no notice of the mud and blood that coated her dress once they pulled apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya saw no reason why Walder Frey shouldn’t be punished for attacking a competitor who thought him an ally no matter how many times it was explained that such turns were the nature of a melee where only one competitor could come away the victor. Briefly, she considered dismissing Walda from her service as the only form of retaliation at her disposal, but quickly put the thought aside. It wasn’t her fault her cousin was a cowardly, dishonorable ass who ought to be stripped of knighthood. Still, Arya was glad to see the backs of the rest of the Freys who had attended the wedding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as the royal wedding and tournament came to an end, plans were already being made for the next event.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another progress?” Arya asked. The thought both thrilled and wearied her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They laid abed in her room one night after most of their guests had departed. Once they spent themselves and began to chat, he mentioned the need to begin preparations for their first royal progress together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another?” Aegon repeated. “It’s been a year since my last royal progress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe for you it has been a year past, but I feel as though I only just finished one what with all those lords and ladies feasting me only to beg for a favor or three.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest shook under her cheek as he laughed. “Most like, with all the planning and arguing amongst the council, we won’t leave for another year, at least. Each castle must needs be given enough advance warning to prepare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be the Riverlands, will it?” she asked, dancing her fingers over the silvery hair along his golden chest. “If I have to listen to Lord Frey try to push his family members on us again...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said firmly. “The Riverlands were the destination of our progress before we went to the North. I still haven’t recovered from a week with a castle full of Freys. No, we will visit Dorne. Though, mayhaps not Starfall. I might lose you completely to Edric Dayne should you see how beautiful his castle is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be stupid.” Arya shoved at her husband’s chest. “It will be his stable of sand steeds I leave you for, not his castle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the more reason to keep you well away from there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to hit him again, but he grasped her hand and kissed her knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will like Dorne, I think,” Aegon said. “The sun burns hotter and the food is the same. Women are seen as the equals of men in many ways. It is the most unique of my kingdoms and the one I love best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arya turned that over in her mind. “I might be half in love with it already.”</span>
</p>
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